


Luke 16:10

by Thisistheend



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Are we questioning our spirituality? Our sexuality? The answer is yes, Avatrice, Beatrice is my comfort character okay, Beatrice. Deserves. Happiness., F/F, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Lilshotgun, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, O Pinterest gods show me the way of overused Bible verses, On the Run, Shotgun Mary is the ultimate wingman, Slow Burn, They're In Love Your Honor, Yeah Camila totally ships it, found family foUND FAMILY FOUND FAMILY, how many Bible references can I make without ever having picked up a Bible in my life, is it obvious that quarantine is making me want to travel, you can have a little lilshotgun as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisistheend/pseuds/Thisistheend
Summary: One who is faithful in very little is also faithful in much, and one who is dishonest in very little is also dishonest in much.The Sister Warriors are on the run after the battle against Adriel. In all the chaos, Beatrice and Ava learn a few things from each other.
Relationships: Shotgun Mary & Ava Silva, Shotgun Mary & Sister Beatrice, Sister Beatrice & Sister Camila & Sister Lilith & Shotgun Mary & Ava Silva, Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva, Sister Camila & Ava Silva, Sister Lilith/Shotgun Mary (Warrior Nun)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 296





	1. Psalm 56:3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I am afraid, I put my trust in you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Alone with You** by Sufjan Stevens

Something weighs heavy on Ava’s back. Her eyes split open from the pain it brings. She tries to cry out, but her voice dies on her lips. Blistering heat sears into her ribcage and singes her throat. Ava tries to reach out, but her limbs are locked in place, bitter numb against the cement. Bare rock closes in on her at all sides. It’s dark, but in the faint light, stalactites bare their teeth. Water droplets splotch her cheeks; it takes all her energy to shake off the wetness. Ava tries to twitch a finger, bend a knee, anything, but there’s nothing left of her here. Just that flame in her back, igniting her underground prison. Ava coughs and sputters. Her voice cracks against the frozen atmosphere.

“I CAN’T…. I CAN’T MOVE!” 

The pain takes her throat again, and her words die on hoarse whispers. Numbness crawls up her body, taking her heartbeat first. Her veins grow cold. Sunlight has not touched this place in centuries—there is no warmth here. Ava tries to control her breathing just like how the nuns taught her. She counts the seconds that tick by. Rock walls glisten in the Halo’s light, but grow dim with time. Soon, even her neck is taken by the numbness, and all she can feel is the frozen tip of her nose. Ava shudders, and the light in her back extinguishes. 

In the darkness, Ava only hears herself breathing. She might as well be afloat in the stars. But there’s something that holds her down. It’s a cold metal, pressed into her ear. Ava cocks her head to the side to listen in. 

“…. Beatrice?” she asks the device. Silence rings in her ears, distant yet omnipresent. Ava calls for her name again, but her lips grow cold. Ice-cold water the last feeling to caress in her cheeks. Ava shuts her eyes—not that it matters in this all-consuming dark. Dripping water is the only indicator of where she is. Even if anyone is beyond those thick walls, they would surely heed the etched warnings. Let the dead rest.

Then, fire rips through her chest. Ava’s piercing scream blots out the quiet, and the cave ignites with a holy light. Her shadow dances across the rock walls, backlit by the circle between her shoulder blades. Stalactites glisten red in the oncoming light. Ava sits up against the rock wall for support. It’s a hard thing, too thick to phase through. Fresh pain shoots up her arm as she slams a fist into her prison wall. Cracks jut out of the dent where her fist makes contact, but the cave stands strong. She might as well be in that body bag again, crying out to God as the pain of life delivers her. But this time, there’s nowhere to go. It’s just her and the stone. It holds her tight as the halo rips through her broken body. She screams, but there’s nobody there to listen.

* * *

Ava’s world shifts in the blink of an eye. She breaks out of her sleeping bag, gasping for air. Her skin tingles against the soft electrical hum of lamplight. Ava grips the cold floor, grateful for the smooth cobbled stone against her fingertips. The halo singes her back, its brilliant light pulsating with every breath she takes. Someone cradles her shoulder, and Ava grasps the hand with hers. When she looks up, Beatrice is there. The nun whispers her name, and her bright brown eyes search for Ava’s gaze. They lock eyes with one another, and Ava’s breathing instinctively slows. 

“Ava? Ava, are you okay?” Beatrice asks. Ava nods, clasping the other girl’s hand. She can feel the tug of a smile at her lips despite the tears that well in her eyes. Before Ava can wipe them away, Beatrice pulls Ava into a hug. She cradles her shaking form, whispering a lullaby that Ava can’t quite comprehend. As Beatrice warms Ava up, the Halo’s violent heat begins to fizzle out.

Over Beatrice’s shoulder, Ava finds a world of green. She recognizes the old glass walls of the old greenhouse that she had fallen asleep in. Broad-leafed trees encapsulate her view, framing the night sky. As the last memory of the nightmare tugs at her mind, this place starts to look more familiar. She and the Sister Warriors had only found Adriel a few days ago, and they had been on the run ever since. Now, this abandoned greenhouse was their temporary home, at least until it was time to cover their tracks again. Lamplight casts harsh shadows on stone angels that watch over Ava and Beatrice. Their moss-covered wings spread across chiseled walls, protecting their makeshift camp. Vibrant green ferns guard the room’s edges, where stone gives way to glass.

There’s a clatter of boots, and Shotgun Mary races into the room. She halts under a stone archway, keeping a hand on the hilt of her gun. Sister Lilith peeks over Mary’s shoulder, watching Ava with wide eyes. Beatrice pulls away from Ava at the arrival of the others, and Ava catches her nervous glance. 

Mary relaxes at the sight of Ava and Beatrice amongst the sleeping bags. She takes a moment to study the stars scrawled across their temporary shelter. When her gaze settles on Ava again, there’s a newfound softness to her voice.

“Another bad dream?” Mary asks.

Ava leans back on her hands. “Was it that obvious?”

“Kinda. We heard you yelling from down the hall,” Mary tells her. Ava’s cheeks flush at the thought of calling for Beatrice in her sleep. 

A chair creaks, and Ava’s gaze shifts to Sister Camila. The nun sits up in her chair, rigid with shock. Ava must have caused quite the ruckus for her night shift to end so abruptly. Concern is written over the young nun’s face, pressing Ava with questions that she can’t answer. She takes one hand off her crossbow, letting it sit comfortably in her lap. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Ava says. Beatrice shakes her head.

“Don’t be,” she tells her. It’s one of those rare moments when she’s not quite put together. Her hair is tousled in her makeshift bun, strands poking out at the ends. There is something striking about Beatrice when she’s out of her habit. She’s draped in a flannel shirt dirtied by the greenhouse’s previous caretaker. Her jeans are ripped and stained, but there’s a light in her eyes that contrasts with the dust and grime. A gold cross flashes against her neck, small yet noticeable enough. Beatrice’s hand rests on the cobbled stone, just out of Ava’s reach. Ava shimmies out of her sleeping bag, avoiding the eye contact of the other girls. She distances herself from the rest of her team, holding her knees up to her chest. Beatrice leans back, and Ava senses a pang of sickening guilt in her stomach.

“I’ll be okay,” Ava says. Her words echo across the glass ceiling before settling into an uncomfortable silence. Sister Lilith straightens as if she’s about to interject, but Mary holds her back. There’s a question on Mary’s face that did not need to be spoken aloud; the concern on her face was more than enough. 

Ava stares at Mary’s boots, then at the ferns that frame her silhouette. “I just need to take a walk or something,” she insists. “Clear my mind.”

Mary regards the Ava for a moment, then motions to Sister Camila. The youngest nun lets out a grateful sigh. She rises from her post, unloading her crossbow as she heads through the archway and back to bed. 

“Alright,” Mary says, “If you’re not back by the end of my shift, you’re dead, you hear me?” Ava chuckles, wiping her wet cheeks despite her warm smile.

“Just don’t push me off a cliff again,” Ava says with a smirk. That forces a grin out of Mary. 

“She’ll give up our position if she leaves,” Lilith points out. She points at Ava, her gaze stern. “Unless you can make the Halo stop.”

Ava turns around, only to see a faint glow coming from her back. It pulsates with her heartbeat, rearing to shake off the demons in her mind. For the poor souls who left their sleeping bags beside Ava, it’s strong enough to bring back the daylight. 

Mary puts a hand on Lilith’s shoulder. “Lilith—” 

Ava waves a hand, cutting Mary off from her scorn. Sister Lilith glances between both women, and Ava swears she sees a hint of sorrow in her gaze. 

“No, she’s right,” Ava says. Her voice shakes more than she cares to admit. Ava shuts her eyes, counting the seconds of quiet. It’s something that Beatrice taught her when phasing through walls at ARQ-Tech; how to watch her breath, how to feel the space around her. The dim hum of electrical light fills the room, crawling into her skin. She shivers at the cold, and hugs her bare shoulders for warmth. Her heart continues to race, and the Halo only shines brighter, searing into her back. She might as well be in that cave again, listening to the dripping walls. When she opens her eyes, she’s in the greenhouse again. The Halo hums softly, making her shoulders tingle. Beatrice sits beside her, studying every inch of her face, looking for a reaction. 

Ava’s chest sinks. The vines on the stone walls constrict the room, twisted towards the blocked sky. Ava stutters something incomprehensible, and she quickly wipes away the tears quickly forming on her heated cheeks.

“L-Lilith’s right,” Ava says. She starts to shimmy back to her sleeping bag. “I’ll just try to—” 

“Hey,” Beatrice says. Her hand reaches out, fingers spread across the stone floor. “Ava?”

“Yeah?” Ava asks. Her voice is quiet now, a mumble in comparison to her usual bellowing, jovial tone. It’s overwhelmed by the Halo’s fury; its protective sting blots out the cold. She doesn’t take Beatrice’s hand, but she watches it carefully, crossing her arms to protect herself.

“If you’re going to be up for a bit, you might as well lend me a hand,” Beatrice says. Her voice is soothing, filling the static in the air. “I’ll get you to bed before Mary can get you into any trouble.”

Mary rolls her eyes. Shaking her head, she sits down in the night watch chair, her hand resting on the butt of her gun. She glances up at Lilith, who fidgets with her newly-grayed hair. Lilith gives Ava a weak smile before heading through the archway and back to bed.

“Come on,” Beatrice insists. She rises from her seat on the floor, extending a hand to Ava. There’s a pause, and Ava regards Beatrice for a moment. There’s something in the nun’s demeanor that makes the Halo flicker. Maybe it’s the steadiness in her eyes, or the softness in her voice; Ava can’t really tell. But while the world grows small, she takes Beatrice’s hand. Their fingers lock, and Beatrice pulls the Warrior Nun to her feet. A warm, tingling sensation traces along Ava’s fingertips. It sends a shiver up her spine, and the Halo quiets for a moment. Ava hopes that Beatrice doesn’t notice the change. As they head through a separate archway, Ava thinks she hears the steady drip of water from stone.

* * *

Ava trails behind Beatrice as they enter the central portion of the greenhouse. It’s strange to see this place at night, dimly lit by buzzing floor lights. Stone paths illuminate their walk until Beatrice stops at the other end of the room. Fluorescent bulbs cast harsh shadows on pine saplings. Though still young, they reach for the stars, held back only by glass ceilings. The glass comes all the way down to the floor, creating a shield from the cold. Ava can see the universe from here, and she’s breathless. A blue moon hangs high overhead, bathing the greenery in a pale light. Stars dot the heavens, filling the landscape with the shades of the Milky Way. 

There’s a loud clang from one of the planting terraces that breaks Ava away from the stars. Beatrice pulls tubes out of a hole in the ground. She kneels down, eyes glued to her work. She puts on gardening gloves that are far too big for her, with white cloth far too overstretched. 

“You’re lucky we got here when we did,” Beatrice’s words echo through the garden. “The last caretaker couldn’t have left that long ago, with the plants this healthy. But it still needs work.”

Ava scoffs. “You said this place has been abandoned for decades.”

Beatrice turns away from the tubes in the ground, placing her hands on her knees. She looks perturbed, but there is a twinkle in the nun’s eye that Ava has learned to notice.

“Just because it’s been abandoned, doesn’t mean that someone didn’t care for it,” Beatrice says. Her voice trails off, and her gaze delves into the ferns. Ava’s heart picks up, and the Halo illuminates in return. Ava considers covering her back, but Beatrice has already noticed. She gives Ava the slightest smile, then quickly averts her gaze. 

There’s something about Beatrice’s mannerisms that entrap Ava; her careful movements, the look of patience in her eye. Ava looks to the stars for answers. She’s met with the silhouette of a sleepy German town, defined by pines in the distant horizon. A single dirt road is the only way out, but it gets swallowed by the dark not far from their light. It wouldn’t be long before this old place got compromised, whether it be by a demon or by a priest. Not that it mattered anymore. Ava takes in the musty smell of fresh rain on soil, the sight of vibrant green contrasted with the dark. The pale moon’s glow casts light over Beatrice, illuminating her still form. The nun glances to the heavens, but the garden ties her down.

“Ava.” Beatrice motions to the bare spot in the dirt beside her. There’s a row of saplings of some exotic plant that Ava can’t name, all packed tightly in their plastic pots. 

“Would you untangle the roots?” Beatrice asks. “Then we’ll transplant them.”

“Um, yeah,” she says. She sits beside Beatrice, legs crossed. Dirt sifts through her fingers as she shakes the first plant out of its pot. A bright pink flower hangs upside-down from her palms. It must be an orchid of some kind, a spark of pink amongst the greenery. Ava massages its roots, letting soil fall to the ground as she does so. Once she’s finished, she sets the little orchid aside to start working on the next pot. Beatrice works quietly, patching up the tubing that Ava can only assume is a part of the irrigation system. No stone angels watch them here, but they work under the light of the stars.

Ava turns to her little collection of pots. She counts fifteen in all, many of them tropical species that she cannot name. They are sorted neatly in rows, all for her.

“Where did you get these?” Ava asks. She turns to Beatrice. “Wait. Are they from that supply run you made yesterday?”

Beatrice gulps, looking up from her task. Strands of hair poke out from her tight bun, framing her face. 

“Maybe.”

Ava can’t help but smile. Something flickers in Beatrice’s eyes, an emotion that Ava hasn’t figured out yet. Ava settles deeper into the soil. She places her hands in her lap, analyzing the flecks of dirt on her fingers. She’s fascinated by the feeling against her skin; mere weeks ago, this sensation only existed in her memories. 

“Why are we doing this, Bea?” Ava asks, glancing up at her. Beatrice’s drops Ava’s gaze to sift through her work, the dug-up soil and the piles of pots beside the moss-covered glass.

“I’m just taking tidying up.”

“But what’s the point?” Ava asks, “It’s three in the morning. And we’ll have to leave in a few days, anyway.”

“Does that make it any less worth fixing?” Beatrice asks. Ava sighs, letting her shoulders slouch.

“I don’t know! It’s not like we’ll ever see this place again.”

“You don’t know that,” Beatrice says. Her voice is rather stern, taking Ava aback. “Maybe we will. Or maybe the gardener will return, one day. It will be better for the next person who comes here.”

“What if it’s Father Vincent?”

There’s a flash in Beatrice’s eyes that takes Ava aback. There’s the nun she first met, the battle-hardened warrior that comes out when needed. Then, her calm demeanor returns. Her anger fades, and her tender gaze falls back on Ava once again. The Warrior Nun realizes that the anger wasn’t meant for her, yet again. It’s distant and lost, out in that dark forest night. 

“I don’t know,” Beatrice admits. “Does it matter?” 

Ava shakes her head, then reaches to grab the next pot. “It seems like a lot.”

She starts to work her way to the roots, avoiding Beatrice’s gaze. This plant has no flowers, but broad leaves caress Ava’s arms. The nun stays alert, her posture erect amongst the saplings.

“Well, if you must think selfishly, the work will help ease your mind,” Beatrice says. She turns back to the tubes, covering them with the mound of dirt she dug before. Ava sucks in her breath, frozen under the weight of leaves. 

“Okay. Sorry,” Ava bites back. She continues with her work, focusing on the roots that run through her fingers. There’s an uncomfortable silence that settles between the two of them, only interrupted by the steady trickle of water. Ava didn’t notice it before—there must be a water feature somewhere. She moves on to the next plant, helping the roots breathe. 

“I’m not angry with you. Just… worried,” Beatrice speaks up in the quiet. She pauses before she can say any more, and there’s a flash of nervousness in her eyes. 

“Your Halo stopped glowing,” she says. 

Ava looks behind her. No light emanates from her anymore, and her shadow has shrunken against the cobble path. She hadn’t even noticed the light dim while she worked. Now, they depended on starlight alone, and the lights on the floor. But that was enough. When Ava looks back at Beatrice, she’s smiling.

“Just trust me with this,” Beatrice tells her. “It’ll help. Okay?”

The two women are filled with moonlight in this glass space. Despite the way this makeshift jungle crowds around them, Ava feels a certain openness here. She breathes deeply, tasting the crisp night air.

“Okay.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Ava to untangle the roots. Beatrice joins her once the irrigation is fixed. They listen to the steady trickle of water that gives new life to their space. The Halo has quieted itself for now; Ava can’t even recall what happened in her nightmare anymore. There’s fear, of suffocating numbness, sure, but the memories don’t speak in pictures. Now, she marvels at every plant she handles. Leaf blades run smooth across her fingertips. Ava hums something to herself, but Beatrice doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the nun has to stop herself from following along. 

Beatrice reaches for the last pot, and her arm brushes with Ava’s. There are no demons in that instant. The warmth is enough to make the world pause. Ava freezes, and both women make eye contact with each other. It only lasts for a moment, but those bright eyes sear into Ava’s mind, a sort of knowing feeling that she hasn’t experienced before. Beatrice is the first to shift, to let the stars complete their orbits. She reaches for another orchid, but she won’t take her eyes off Ava.

“I think I’ve got the rest of this,” Beatrice says. “You should get some sleep before Mary comes looking for you.”

“Think that’ll help?”

“I think so,” Beatrice says. For the first time that night, she searches the sky. Her gaze is entrapped by the stars, and they twinkle back in return. They give Beatrice a moment to breathe, to think. The nun laughs to herself, looking down at her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice says. “Maybe you’re right.”

Ava settles into her kneeled position on the floor, cocking her head. “What do you mean?”

Beatrice turns to an old cabinet at the end of the hall. Electrical wires string from the ceiling, and Ava notices the hum of a generator. It must have been going this whole time, but she was lost in… something.

“These plants won’t survive without proper heating,” Beatrice says, “Not with the storm coming in. I don’t know if I have enough time to fix it.”

Ava glances at the stars again. There’s a newfound safety under that light, despite the storm clouds surrounding its edges. She rises to her feet, extending a hand to Beatrice. The nun takes it without question, and Ava pulls her to her feet. 

“Hey,” Ava reassures her. “It’s like you said, it’s worth trying to make it better. You still did your best.” 

There’s a hint of regret in Beatrice’s eyes, but she smiles through it regardless.

* * *

Beatrice wakes with the dawn. It’s still too early for her sisters, but she rises regardless. She slides up the glass wall for support; the morning dew is silhouetted against her fingertips. She takes in a deep breath, letting the seconds of silence tick by. She shivers in the fall morning, despite the glass protecting her from the chilling wind. She can’t imagine those little orchids could have survived the night. 

Beatrice rubs her eyes, and her blurry vision come into focus. It’s then that she realizes that she’s alone. The night watch chair sits empty; Lilith must be checking Mary’s room. Ava’s sleeping bag lies with the covers wide open. Beatrice jumps to her feet, squatting down to feel the bag. It’s as cold as the frost on the ceiling—Ava must have been gone for a while. 

“Ava…” Beatrice mutters under her breath. There’s scorn in her voice, with a hard edge, but it gets caught in fear at the final note. Beatrice wishes she couldn’t hear herself, or watch herself pacing the hallways. She checks janitorial closets, seedbank storage, everywhere. The last place is the central greenhouse, where she and Ava worked all night. Beatrice rushes through the archway, eyes on the sky. She says a silent prayer that this girl didn’t run off yet again. That she’s somewhere safe, at least. Beatrice sends her thoughts to the sun, where dark clouds begin to gather. 

“Ava—” 

Beatrice stops herself. It’s much warmer here than usual—almost enough to make Beatrice shed her flannel. But it’s not the sunlight that brings warmth this time. Ava sits cross-legged in the middle of the cobblestone path, facing the mountains in the east. She hasn’t noticed Beatrice yet—her eyes are shut, and her hands rest on her knees. Pines overshadow her, but she sits tall amongst their sturdy trunks.

At first, Beatrice thinks that Ava’s back is on fire. But she recognizes the Halo’s familiar glow, the humming energy that circles her back. Beatrice can’t help but notice the way Ava’s wavy locks fall around that brimming energy, or the way her eyelashes flutter in concentration. Ava takes in deep, careful breaths, present with every moment that ticks by. Beatrice taught her that only a few days ago, when they trained together at ARQ-Tech. Ava’s posture is erect, but her lungs rise and sigh with the wind. The Halo pulsates in turn, giving off a steady heat. Freshly-planted orchids bloom around her, stronger than the night before. This greenhouse would be safe, as long as it had the Warrior Nun’s support. 

Beatrice doesn’t dare bother her. Instead, a smile crawls across her face, one meant for Ava, yet not meant to be seen. It didn’t need to be. For once, Beatrice feels her heart push against her mind. Once a seed with a hard shell to crack, its petals peek out from her ribcage, looking to bloom with the Halo’s light. One thing is for certain—Beatrice can get the heater running again, as long as she puts the work into it.


	2. Proverbs 13:12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I Will Follow You Into the Dark** by Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> I know this kind of scene is overdone in fanfiction, but... you clicked on it. So technically this is your fault.
> 
> Paintings described are Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Alexander Louis Leloir, The Virgin with Angels by William Bouguereau, and The Storm of the Sea of Galilee by Rembrandt, in that order.

Beatrice awakes to a world of gray. A spotlight casts over concrete walls, buzzing with ferocity. It sits a corner of the ceiling, watching over them with a single beady eye. The light is weak enough to cast Beatrice into darkness, but Mary basks in its dim yellow rays. Mary leans against the wall, fidgeting with a carved knife absentmindedly. Lilith rests soundly beside her, beside stacks of buckets and mops. There are no windows in this place, but Beatrice can guess that they are well into the night. As much as she dislikes hiding in a janitor’s closet, it was their only option. Adriel’s demons found their last hideout too quickly. Fresh memories of running down metal spiral stairs still haunt Beatrice. Luckily, there was a museum nearby that Beatrice’s parents had made considerable donations to, and the manager still owed them a favor. These walls were cold and lifeless, and the room was adorned with nothing but half-empty shelves. But they kept her sisters safe, for now.

Camila rolls over in her sleep, away from the humming light. A few seconds pass, and she starts to snore softly. Shotgun Mary smiles, glancing over her sisters’ sleeping forms. Beatrice shifts in her bag, pulling up the covers. Dust settles around her, making it hard to breathe. It’s only then that she notices the empty sleeping bag. Ava was there when she last checked, chest sighing, hair spilling out of the covers. Now, the bag lies open on the cold floor. 

Beatrice is up in an instant. She fumbles around, looking for the spare shuriken she hid underneath. She catches a glimpse of light, making her freeze. It shines through the slightest crack in the door. Camila locked it earlier that night, but now it sits slightly ajar. 

“You let Ava leave?” Beatrice’s words fly at Mary. The older woman shrugs. She won’t look up from her knife.

“She’s a grown woman, you know,” Mary says. Beatrice sighs, letting her shoulders drop.

“I know, that’s not—” Beatrice says. Her eyes look to the ceiling, contemplating the smooth gray stone. “It’s already a miracle that they’re letting us stay here. What if she gets caught?”

“C’mon. One Warrior Nun against a couple of guards?” Mary scoffs. She fiddles with the knife again, tossing it in the air before catching it with a perfect grip. “I’m not worried about it.”

Beatrice lets out a huff. She goes through her bag, but keeps an eye on the slit in the doorway. Eventually, she abandons the shuriken for the divinium sword. She throws it around her shoulder, letting the blue metal thud against her back. She starts to throw her hair up in a messy bun. When she looks up, she notices Mary staring at her.

“Oh,” Mary says, her voice dropping. “You’re worried about it.”

Beatrice pauses at the last pin in her bun. 

“No,” Beatrice says, feeling heat crawl into her cheeks. She tugs at her boot as she laces them up. “I’m just… checking on her. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Okay. You keep telling yourself that,” Mary laughs. She leans against the wall, letting her smile show. Lilith is awake now, propping herself on her elbows. Unsteady eyes glance between her sisters, unsure how to react. Beatrice looks incredulously at the both of them. She rises to her feet, letting the security lamp cast a light on her silhouette. A heavy silence stifles the room, only interrupted by Camila’s snores.

“Well?” Mary says, breaking the tension. “Go get her.” 

Beatrice pauses. Lilith’s gaze rests heavily on her shoulders, as does the light on the corner wall. There’s nothing accusatory about that gaze, just wakeful. Listening. Cement walls constrict their space, cutting into Beatrice’s lungs. She nods to Shotgun Mary before pulling a flashlight off the wall. She peers through the crack in the door, scouting the dark hallways ahead. Before she disappears, Lilith flashes Mary a knowing glance. Mary can only chuckle to herself, letting the knife catch the light as she continues to toss it.

* * *

Metal armor illuminates under Beatrice’s flashlight as she navigates the maze of corridors. Knights guard the hallways, watching over her as she passes. She comes across a particular set of armor with a red cross emblazed on its chest— it’s likely a remnant from the Crusades. Beatrice is alone with a thousand faceless statues; only the subtle wails of the heating system keep her company. She’s aware of every creak in the old tile, every red flash on the ceiling. Every breath chills her throat, forcing her to wake up at this early hour. Beatrice tugs at the strings of her old sweater. The divinium sword rests comfortably on her back, signaling to the ghosts in armor that she was worthy to stand among them. 

A quiet tap makes Beatrice halt. Her parade of knights ends here, where the hallway opens into a display room. When Beatrice hears it again, she holds her breath. There’s a pause, and then another tap—it’s almost methodical, but it doesn’t quite perfect a beat.

As Beatrice rounds the corner, a silhouette appears in the shadows. Ava stands before a massive painting, set afire by Beatrice’s light. Ava is without a flashlight herself, but there’s a faint circle carved in her back. It glows just enough to radiate her immediate surroundings. The Halo charges and fades with her breathing—Ava’s getting good at this. But she hasn’t noticed Beatrice yet. She’s is transfixed by angelic wings, backlit by holy light. White feathers tower over her figure, unfurling in an effort to shelter her. Her free hand is stuffed in her jacket, and the hood conceals most of her face. Frizzy brown hair sticks out in a way Beatrice can’t help but notice. 

The nun’s voice catches in her throat. She doesn’t know why that happens nowadays, whenever Ava catches her by surprise. She clutches her cross instinctively, letting the necklace spill out of her sweater. Beatrice swallows hard to find her words again.

“You’re up late,” Beatrice says. Ava grins in return. She cranes her neck to look back at Beatrice.

“You’re not gonna chastise me about it?” Ava asks. The Halo starts to dim under the brilliance of Beatrice’s flashlight.

Beatrice shakes her head, and a slight smile escapes her lips. “Mary said I should be less worried,” she says. She tiptoes towards Ava, letting her frame bounce as she does so. “And… I could use some time to wander.”

“Oh, I’m always down to wander,” Ava says, beaming at Beatrice. That bright smile sends a pang through the nun’s chest. “Um. Obviously.”

Beatrice walks up beside her, pointing her flashlight at the painting. She traces the image of a man, adorned in robes that flow red across the landscape. The man wrangles with an angel, his grip tight around the other man’s waist. His robes fling into the action like an open flame, but he’s locked within the acrylic. The angel is dressed in white, his stance sturdy against his opponent. His wings dominate half the painting. Ava stands at the center of it all, glancing between the two. She’s mesmerized by the wings, the stark white against the landscape’s harsh shadows. 

“That’s the story of Jacob and the angel,” Beatrice says, clasping her hands behind her back. Her posture straightens, and she looks rather nun-like despite her civilian clothes and the sword strapped to her back. “He was on his way to meet his brother when he encountered a stranger—well, some say it was God himself, but nobody really knows.” 

Beatrice pauses, checking to see if Ava is listening. The Halo Bearer is lost in the artwork. She glances at Beatrice when she stops her narration, eyes glinting in the dark. 

“Jacob wrestled with the stranger all night,” Beatrice continues, “Then, in the morning, the stranger revealed himself to be an angel, and gave him the name—” 

“Israel.” Ava looks up with the hint of a smile on her lips. Beatrice loses her words again. Ava gives her a nudge with her shoulder. “Hey, I was raised by nuns, you know.” 

“I know, I just—” Beatrice pauses, reflecting back on the painting. The angel pushes hard on Jacob, but holds a gentle grip on his wrist. Jacob, on the other hand, is poised to fight, painted in sharp strokes. He holds fast to the angel, his face contorted in fury. Beatrice sighs. “I didn’t think they taught you much about God at St. Michael’s. Or that a heartless woman like her would even bother.”

“Well, I couldn’t hold a Bible. But I picked up a few things.” 

Beatrice turns to her. “Did the nuns teach you?”

“No, Diego read to me,” Ava says. She averts her gaze, bouncing in place a little. It’s not clear if it’s from restlessness or nerves. “It helped me fall asleep some nights.” 

Beatrice nods, feeling her smile drop. Ava starts to wander to the next painting, and Beatrice follows. Their flashlights pour over the room, passing a bench and stopping at the edge of the painting’s wooden frame. Beatrice flicks her light away, letting darkness consume Ava’s path. Ava stops, watching Beatrice’s light scan across the room.

“You miss him,” Beatrice says. It’s a simple statement. The museum envelops them in silence, as if holding its breath. Ava lets out a little sigh.

“I worry about him. But yeah.” She continues to wander, holding her flashlight straight ahead. If not for that beacon, Beatrice would be lost by now.

“I wish I could say he was safe. But now… I don’t know,” Beatrice admits. That makes Ava stop in her tracks, and she swivels around to look the nun in the eye. Beatrice hugs herself with her free hand, suddenly aware of the weight of Ava’s gaze. 

“Um. Maybe when this is all over, we can find him a place to stay.”

“Really?” Ava asks. She perks up, brown eyes flashing. Beatrice is caught in the warmth of her grin. There’s a bounce in Ava’s step that’s all too familiar. Another dark hallway opens up, and Beatrice notices a handful of blinking red lights on the ceiling.

“Ava!” 

The Halo Bearer halts, noticing the cameras that Beatrice motions to. They both dive to the adjacent wall. Cold grips Beatrice’s side as she presses tightly against the cement. Beatrice feels a bump on her side, and she is consumed by the smell of fresh leather and lilacs. There’s something musty as well, a deep incense that fills many of the ancient cathedrals that she’s walked before. Ava presses comfortably against her, adding a warmth that was once lost. Beatrice tries not to listen to that feeling in her chest, but after the past week, everything is uncaged. Ava’s presence takes her back to warm bedcovers, flickering candlelight beside the pews, and most of all, the bright lights of ARQ-Tech cast over twenty feet of stone. Beatrice silently prays that Ava doesn’t notice the way her heart races. Luckily, Ava’s focus is straight ahead, poised for any change from the security cameras. After a few agonizing seconds, Ava relaxes.

“Bea?” Ava’s voice is small, but cacophonous in the quiet of dawn. They lock eyes with one another; Ava is still dangerously close for Beatrice’s liking. 

“What?” her voice is just as quiet, yet soothing. 

“Do you really mean that? About Diego?”

“Let’s try to not alert every guard in a hundred-foot radius first,” Beatrice speaks in a half-whisper, “But yes, when this is all over. Maybe he can stay in the Cat’s Cradle, if we ever get it back.”

“Pfffft. Imagine Mother Superion having to deal with him,” Ava jokes. Both of them laugh at that, and Beatrice shakes her head.

“Well, the OCS takes care of its family. Even when they make trouble.” Beatrice looks the other girl in the eye. Part of her wishes she could phase into the cement like Ava does, but she’s trapped by the smell of lilacs. Only the cross on her neck can defend her from her own thoughts. There’s a part of her that wants to stay, be absorbed by the canvas. Ava’s eyes paint a story of their own. Her irises are intricately designed with sharp detail. 

“We’ll get the Cat’s Cradle back, Bea,” she says. She nudges Beatrice’s shoulder, pushing her into the wall. “Between the five of us? Duretti’s screwed.”

“ _Pope_ Duretti,” Beatrice points out, “But… I hope so.” Ava rises to her feet. Cold fills the space that Ava leaves. Beatrice gets up, careful to stay close to the wall. Ava continues on as if nothing happened, guided into this new section of the room. She comes face-to-face with another knight, slightly taller than her. She has to rise to her tiptoes to look the faceless man in the eye. 

“Bea! Look!” she says. She sticks her tongue out, and a flash of pink reflects back in the polished metal.

“Shhhh!” Beatrice hurries over to her with a finger pursed to her lips. “Careful—” 

“C’mon,” Ava’s voice drops. There’s a playful look in her eye that draws Beatrice in. She hurries beside the Halo Bearer, looking up at the knight expectantly. Their faces are distorted in the metal, but still there. Ava tilts her head to the side, making it bend in an unnatural way. She giggles at herself; her smile spreads for the world to see. Beatrice doesn’t understand how Ava can act so carefree, in full display of the many painted eyes that peer down at them. She’s unafraid of the dark, wholly trusting in her guiding flashlight. She’s unbound, something that Beatrice hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Beatrice fiddles with the cross on her neck. For all these years, she has kept her head down with pride. She worshipped that constriction in her heart like she was told; she feared the wrath of God. But now, despite the cement floor being so tantalizingly close, she meets the knight’s watchful gaze. Her reflection in the armor stares back, but there’s something missing there. As she raises her chin, her forehead widens against the bent metal. Ava lets out a burst of laughter. Her voice echoes through the room unabashedly. 

\A quiet chuckle escapes Beatrice’s lips. Ava follows Beatrice’s lead, brown eyes dancing in the dark. Beatrice is mesmerized by her movement, the way her head falls back as she laughs, the way wavy strands of hair spill out of her hood. For once, the cross on Beatrice’s necklace feels light enough to let her breathe. It hangs just over her heart, providing protection from the unhinged fire in her ribcage. She’s smoldered the ashes for years, so far, yet it’s all unraveling in a single spark. 

Wait. She stops in her tracks. Ava’s brows furrow, and she scrunches her nose in an endearing way. The flashlight frames Ava’s silhouette, but it hides everything else. The cameras in endless flashing red, the security guard that could turn the corner at any moment, and most importantly, the thousand acrylic eyes watching Beatrice’s every move. 

Beatrice starts to shrink. She grasps her free hand around her shoulder in a sort of half-hug. Usually, she would take her cross for guidance, but that can’t help her now. It’s just one of a million motifs that decorate the wall, hinting at past stories but never speaking with her directly. 

“… Beatrice?” Ava asks. Her voice stings with the raw power it holds, the way she can make Beatrice falter at the sound of her name. She’s pulled away from the Earth, toward the girl across the room. 

Beatrice takes a step back. She lets go of her necklace, and it dangles freely from her neck. For the first time, the security cameras are the last thing on her mind. She looks to the ceiling and finds relief in the dark. If she turned off the flashlight, she could disappear. She could shut herself away, find her way to the earth again. Beatrice doesn’t fear the deafening quiet, or the lack of movement in these halls. Her flashlight scans the room, adding detail to every glare the paint sends her way. There’s a constriction in her heart that should be there; something that used to hold her down now lets her float. She’s cast in space, guided by stars. No, she doesn’t mind the dark; it’s the ability to fly that scares her the most. She can’t find the will to fear the canvas anymore. 

Beatrice searches the walls for answers. Her breath catches as the light falls onto a particularly graceful set of wings. The nun gazes upon three angels, all huddled around a sleeping baby. One kneels down in reverence, while another extends her violin to him. She plays him a soft lullaby, one that Beatrice can almost hear through the canvas. The last angel plays a mandolin, adding to the silent harmony. The little Christ leans on his mother, unbothered by the world around him. The Virgin Mary seems at peace with the angel’s company. White wings shelter them both, yet give them space to breathe.

“I guess this one’s pretty self-explanatory,” Ava admits. She stands beside Beatrice, examining the painting that spans across the wall. The angels huddle around them, and they stand face-to-face with the sleeping child. 

“Hey,” Ava says, turning to Beatrice. Her words carry weight. “We can head back if you want. I didn’t mean to push you—”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Beatrice gives her a nervous smile, shaking her head. Nothing can ground her now, not even the cross on her neck. 

“I took my vows so young, Ava. I didn’t know what they meant,” Beatrice says. Her gaze is glued to the pattern of wings; she sifts through the feathers for a sign, a prayer, anything. “I thought the Church would set my path right. I thought they knew how to save me. But now… with Pope Durretti, and… and Father _Vincent_ …” 

“Are you scared?” Ava asks after a long silence. There’s a softness in Ava’s voice that only comes when she and Beatrice are alone. It’s attentive to the weight of every syllable, every slight change in octave. It soothes the whirring in Beatrice’s heart, but it doesn’t stop the shakiness in her hands. She lets out a deep sigh, looking up to fight back tears.

“What if I’ve been living a lie?” Beatrice voices aloud. She hates the way her voice trembles. “What if our souls are damned and I can’t… I can’t do anything to change it?”

“Hey,” Ava says. She reaches out to Beatrice, but the nun instinctively pulls back. Ava drops her hand—she doesn’t dare push it any further. Wide brown eyes encapsulate Beatrice’s focus, searching for a way in. There’s a guilt in her chest that weighs heavier than any of the motifs on the wall.

“I-I don’t know much about this stuff,” Ava admits, “But I don’t think you need saving. You’re a good person, Bea. You’ve always done the right thing for your sisters, for the rest of us.” Ava looks up to the painting again. “Maybe your soul is up to you and God to decide.”

Beatrice basks in the company of angels. Their wings extend through the canvas, but she can’t touch them. She takes a step forward, filling the artwork with her flashlight’s glow. Feathers comfort her in smooth strokes, though gravity brings her gaze down.

“I don’t even know what God wants,” Beatrice admits. “All I have are these paintings.” There’s a pause, a filled space that gives Ava time to think. 

“Aren’t they beautiful, though?” 

When Beatrice turns to her, she’s caught in her gaze. Ava isn’t looking at the painting at all. There’s something solid in her eyes, a certainty that Beatrice is foreign to. There’s a tug at her sleeve from a ghost of her own design. She’s locked in place, unable to look away.

Beatrice’s heart spikes as they plummet into darkness. She flips the switch of her flashlight multiple times. There are a few deafening clicks, but no response. The world disappears, except for the occasional flash of red.

"Shit.”

“ _Language_.”

“Sorry.”

Beatrice shuffles around, searching for direction in the void. She hears Ava’s apology die on her lips, and she walks toward the sound. The cold feels sharper, gripping onto Beatrice’s sweater. Ava shuffles away, and Beatrice pauses. 

“Ava? Can you hear me?”

Her voice echoes off the walls. Her eyes start to adjust to the dark, and she starts to see tinges of blue in the corner of her vision. She holds her breath, listening to every beat of silence.

“I’m here,” Ava’s voice trembles. “Did your flashlight seriously just die on us?”

Beatrice flicks the switch again; the click is deafening. She tries a few more times, but with no results.

“Well, da—” Ava starts, then catches herself. “Um. Shoot.”

Beatrice is constricted in stone. Only the ice in her lungs and the goosebumps on her arms define her reality. The firm ground under her feet begins to dissolve. There’s a certain tingling sensation dissolving into her skin but not quite solidifying. She takes a step forward, but she can’t be sure that she’s moving at all. 

“Ava, I’m coming to you, okay? Just stay where you are.” She puts one foot in front of the other, tentative with each step. She lets out an exhale each time her feet connect with something solid.

“Ow!” Ava exclaims. The surface under Beatrice’s foot gives way, and she stumbles back onto the floor. 

“Sorry,” Beatrice mutters under her breath. She must have stepped on Ava’s foot. Ava walks around her, and their shoulders bump into each other. The old cathedrals come back in a heartbeat. Beatrice hones in on the faint heat of candlelight, the smell of melting wax, the stirring in her heart when deep in prayer. She reaches out, and she takes hold of Ava’s arm. Her grip is soft, like the touch of the angels on the wall. Beatrice melts into the warmth, losing all sense of herself in the dark. There’s only that static in her chest that leads her on. 

Beatrice’s hand slips, and it glides down Ava’s arm. There’s a sudden pang in her heart, a definitive gap in the liminal space. When she finds Ava’s hand, their fingers instinctively interlock. There’s that stable ground again, tying her to earth. No matter what thoughts float through her mind, Beatrice can’t let go. She shuts her eyes despite the everlasting dark. Ava catches her breath, but doesn’t pull away. Only the heating system comments on their presence, whispering to the two girls in the dark. 

The slightest shade of red enters Beatrice’s view. She opens her eyes again, only to see Ava’s silhouette illuminate the void. Details become more intricate as time passes, lit by a dim glow on her back. The Halo hums louder than the heating system, overpowering the security cameras. The nun is speechless, basking in the warmth of the Halo this closely.

In the silence, Ava starts to giggle. It could be a simple release of nerves, or a celebration of their newfound light source. The more she laughs, and the more she leans into Beatrice, the more the Halo exudes its holy light. It reveals a consort of angels that smile down on them. Warm tones color the atmosphere, a stark contrast to the once-grey room. But when Beatrice turns to Ava, it’s not the angels that leave her breathless. The Halo Bearer looks up in awe, mesmerized by her own light. When Beatrice follows her gaze, she freezes. 

The two of them stand before the grandest painting of them all. A ship sails between their interlocked hands, caught in a vicious storm. Foaming waves rip the mast aside; it’s nearly capsized. The crew is diligent—some watch the storm ahead, while others work hard to keep the ship afloat. Clouds overshadow its silhouette, casting into the dark. But there’s light from above, piercing through the storm. The heavens cast upon the ship’s crew despite the hell around them, streaking the clouds white with the help of the Halo’s light. 

“Wow,” Ava breathes. Her voice brings Beatrice back to reality. She glances at the Halo Bearer, silhouetted by the sea. She examines every brushstroke, every spray of paint. Beatrice always considered herself to be a focused person, able to hone in on life’s most important details. But with the way Ava scours over every painting, absorbing the way the acrylic twists and turns on the canvas, she must see so much more. 

A blaring screech sends the two girls reeling. A violent red light flashes across the room. Ava drops Beatrice’s hand in the sudden jolt.

“Fuck!” Ava spits out. Beatrice doesn’t bother to correct her this time—she grabs Ava’s arm, dragging her down the hallway of knights. Something squeaks just beyond them, and then there’s the clamor of boots. They race past Jacob, past the angels, plunging themselves into the warriors of old. The Halo is blinding, but it guides their way forward. 

Past the knights, and down the hall, Ava starts to giggle again. Her voice echoes off the walls, adding heavenly light to the drab hallways. Before she realizes it, Beatrice is laughing too. Ava teases her, racing ahead and goading her to catch up. When Beatrice reaches Ava, she pushes her forward, nearly doubling over in a fit of giggles as she does so. It’s as if Beatrice has a Halo of her own, radiating energy, letting her fly across the stars to take her where she needs to go.

They turn a corner, and despite the blaring alarm and the distressed calls of the museum’s security, they both locate the closet door. They both make eye contact, and Beatrice is entranced by that twinkle in Ava’s eye. They both know exactly what comes next. 

Ava gets a running start, racing toward the door at a full sprint. Beatrice closes in quickly, shoving her aside to gain ground. They both tussle with each other in a fit of laughter, shoving each other aside before Ava finally gets a firm grip on the doorknob. The light of the hideout illuminates the dark hallway as Ava throws herself in. Beatrice is next, shutting the closet door with a bang. Ava skids to a halt, then flops dramatically onto the floor. The girl is in hysterics, gripping her stomach as she lets her mirth pour out. The Halo shines with a certain ferocity that Beatrice has never seen before. The nun slides against the doorframe until she falls to the floor, gasping for air. Beatrice’s laughter is merciless, unbound from the camera’s gaze. Tight knots constrict her stomach, and her cheeks sting from a permanent smile. There’s a lingering feeling on her fingertips where Ava’s hand fits so well. 

Beatrice glances down, then goes silent. Mary hasn’t moved from her post, and there’s a smirk on her face that could only mean trouble. Lilith and Camila are fully awake, their eyes wide at the scene before them. The smile drops from Beatrice’s face, and she straightens her posture against the door. Ava’s laughter dies down only when Beatrice’s halts completely. Ava rises from the floor in an instant, sitting at attention for the other three women. Lilith shakes her head at them both. Camila glances between the two of them, but there’s no sense of surprise in her gaze.

Mary chuckles to herself. Her gaze settles on Beatrice, who sits on the opposite wall as her. 

“Did you have fun?” Mary asks. She draws her words out, letting them simmer in the space between them. Beatrice finds herself grinning, to her own horror. 

“Oh, shut up,” Beatrice chastises her. That elicits an even bigger grin from Mary, who sits up in her seat.

“Language,” Mary mimics the nun. Beatrice feels her shoulders rise, and, in a fit of tension, grabs her pillow from Camila’s sleeping bag. Camila objects, but not before Beatrice lobs it at Mary’s face. Mary dodges it perfectly, but now, she’s the one laughing.


	3. 1 Peter 4:8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This Empty Northern Hemisphere** by Gregory Alan Isakov  
> The song on the radio is **You Worry Me** by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

Ava never expected to set foot in Paris. She always imagined a stroll along the Seine at dusk, watching the city bathe itself in fluorescent lights. In her mind, there were a million cafés sprawled across the streets, and a new stranger to meet in each one. She would make silly faces at the gargoyles that guarded Notre Dame, or what was left of it. She would wander through the Louvre; absorb every detail of the relics of the past. She would stretch her tired limbs and soak in the early fall breeze. But all these were dreams at most—she never dared speak these thoughts out loud. Though her mind drifted, she never expected to leave the walls of St. Michael’s, much less step foot into a café. She never even expected to walk again.

She certainly didn’t expect to greet Paris while being shoved out of a moving van. 

Ava’s first taste of France is bitter asphalt, with a tangy aftertaste of her own blood. Beatrice pulls her to her feet before she has a chance to react. Ava wipes the blood off her face, flicking it into the ground. She glances up to see Shotgun Mary dash down a cramped alleyway. Sister Camila is right beside her; they both have their weapons out and scanning the road ahead. Lilith is next, racing after the other two at a supernatural speed. 

Limbs once stiff now spring into action, thriving on adrenaline. Ava is sprinting, flinging herself across the street with reckless abandon. The Halo scorches her spine, pulsating with energy. It ignites her veins, ripping through her system to power her muscles. Beatrice keeps pace beside her, shouting directions that Ava can’t hear. The ringing in her ears overpowers everything, like the ominous gong of a church bell. There’s a blur of lamplight and the dusting of snow, and the dull throb of feet swelling in their boots. 

Ava glances back. Their van lies abandoned on the side of the road; its doors are flung open. Several men swarm the vehicle—a few of them hop into the backseat where Ava was just sitting. The rest sprint after the Sister Warriors, flanking across the alleyway. There’s a familiar hunger in their eyes, accompanied by a floating red mist. 

Beatrice presses her hand against Ava’s shoulder, pushing the Halo Bearer ahead of her. They turn a corner, and when Ava looks up, the other three Sister Warriors are gone. Her stomach drops. They must have turned the wrong corner, but it’s too late to think of the consequences. She sprints across the sidewalk, shoving past any pedestrians that step in her way. There are a few shouts, and the crowd makes way for them. People run alongside them, diving into shops or out into the street. Nobody dares to go against the tide—they don’t need to see the wraiths to know the danger ahead. Drinks are abandoned on outdoor tables, chairs flung to their sides. Beatrice’s heavy breathing in Ava’s ear is the only consistency in the chaos. Eyes bear down on Ava in particular, and she questions if they are running from her more than anyone else. Not only does the Halo glow for all to see, but the divinium sword rattles against her back.

Ava grips Beatrice’s arm, leading her into another alley. She lets the nun go as they round the corner, but she stays close by. Adrenaline rips through their systems; it lets Ava and Beatrice fly. They stay together in stride. Powerlines chart their course, rushing alongside apartment buildings. There are a few shops out here, shut tight for the evening. It was quiet here before the two women showed up, but now the sound of pounding boots fills the streets. Ava rounds another corner with Beatrice on her heels. The setting sun floods the sky orange, glaring over the endless stream of buildings. The blinding light casts shadows on the path ahead.

Beatrice’s scream pierces through the air. Ava halts, then whips back. There’s an alleyway behind her she didn’t notice before. It’s swarming with men in combat gear, spilling out and clustering around her companion. One of them has a deadly grip on Beatrice’s arm. She shoots her leg out, planting a firm sidekick in the gut of the man behind her. He reels back, coughing up a fine red mist. 

The silhouette of another man forms out of the shadows. He advances on Beatrice. There’s a gleam of metal that flicks out of his hand; it knocks the breath out of Ava. It’s a polished knife, pointed at Beatrice’s chest. Beatrice notices the knife and starts to fiddle for a shuriken hidden in her habit. She tries to wriggle free, but the grip on her hand is too strong to pull away. Ava sprints toward Beatrice, reaching out to her. Screams rip through her throat, throwing her forward, but she’s not fast enough.

Beatrice makes eye contact with Ava, but only briefly. There’s a tinge of fear in her eyes that Ava hasn’t seen before. The men form a vicious circle, taunting the nun trapped in the center. Red mist swirls in some sort of dance, gathering around Beatrice. It gently caresses her jaw, circling her shoulders. The Parisian sunset adds a glare to each particle of red, reflecting off her face. They accentuate the life in her eyes, making it spill out for the world to see.

Ava almost thinks it’s beautiful, the way the wraiths illuminate Beatrice’s face. If only they weren’t looking for a way into her soul. 

Fear rips through Ava’s spine, and the Halo responds with equal fury. No— she passes through fear. It dissolves under the fire of something far stronger. It starts in her chest. Her ribcage is a broken dam, releasing the floodwaters at the sight of Beatrice’s pain. Ava melts into the Halo’s raw power, losing her reality to the flame. It tears through her skin, reopening her scars. There is a brilliant light and a bang. Ava is swept off her feet, and she slams into a nearby wall. The shattering of glass mixes with her own screams. 

There is that perpetual ringing in her ears. Ava’s eyes fly open. The skyline overshadows her, highlighted by the orange-washed sky. She tries to get up, but her shoulders are frozen to the pavement. Ava cranes her neck, willing her arm to move, but it’s useless. She’s numb again, lost to all sense of touch. But she can see what’s left of the street corner. The bookshop’s entrance is in shambles; the front windows are completely shattered, and free-flying papers float with the evening breeze. Debris fills the sidewalk, along with what’s left of the men. A knife lies on the pavement, dusted by ripped concrete. The red mist is gone, dissipated in the chaos. Despite the path of destruction that the Halo left, Ava doesn’t see Beatrice’s body in the disarray. Her mind continues to scream; that voice is contorted into someone she barely recognizes, its voice shrill and unending. Ava focuses on her breathing. She pictures a greenhouse in her mind, and her heart starts to find a steady rhythm in its fluctuations.

“Ava!” A familiar voice rings out in the silence. Beatrice casts a shadow over her, filling the view of the sky. She’s bleeding red from a cut in her jaw, but her eyes are focused, absorbed by the Halo Bearer. The sunset illuminates her silhouette, giving off an angelic glow. Ava can’t help but grin.

“Oh, thank God,” Ava breathes, abandoning the avoidance of saying the lord’s name in vain entirely. “Beatrice—” 

“It’s okay,” Beatrice reassures her. She throws a limp arm over her shoulder instinctively. “You did great, Ava. Come on. We’ve got to go.”

“Okay,” Ava says, lost in Beatrice’s embrace. “Okay.” Beatrice heaves Ava to her feet, but she still leans heavily on the nun’s back. The sword starts to slip off of Ava’s back, but Beatrice grabs it quickly, settling the strap back onto Ava’s shoulder. The world becomes a blur of streetlight and broken glass. The streets of Paris stabilize under Beatrice’s arms, and the classical French-style apartments come into focus. They are surrounded by rows of identical windows, bathed in the dying sun. Some have their lights on, and curious faces to accompany them.

Ava rests her neck on the nun’s shoulder, too exhausted to raise her head. She looks up at Beatrice only for a moment, but it’s enough to suck the breath out of her. She’s absorbed in her eyes, bright and focused from the adrenaline. Ava is aware of her heartbeat now more than ever. There’s a roaring song, the tingling on her fingertips, the way her lungs heave against Beatrice’s side. Her waking body reminds Ava that she’s still alive, as if the sunlight and the look in Beatrice’s eyes weren’t enough. 

Ava draws in a steady breath. Air never tasted cleaner in this space. She can’t help the smile that grows wide across her face.

“What?” Beatrice asks in that quiet voice. Ava notices the blood welling around her jaw, and she wants to wipe the red away. If only her arms would let her.

A clamber of boots disrupts the atmosphere. Ava looks up, and a mess of shadows strikes against the walls, lit by the glowing windows above. And there’s Beatrice behind her, hurrying to Ava’s side, but caught in between the subtle glow of the Halo and the darkness that lunges towards them. 

“Beatrice!”

The nun whips around. The red mist is a warning sign, rounding the corner and spreading into the intersection. Three men follow, spilling out into the street. One of them raises a pistol towards them. His eyes are starved, scanning their every last detail. Without a second thought, aims his gun right at Ava’s forehead. 

The streets of Paris are silent. The firearm invades the space between them; Ava’s skin runs cold. Beatrice reaches across Ava’s limp body, helping her lean against her back. Ava’s arms are the next to wake up, and they instinctively wrap around Beatrice’s torso. The Halo Bearer cradles Beatrice now, even though she depends on her now more than ever. 

“You should get out of the way,” the man with the gun sneers. He looks Beatrice dead in the eye. “We’re not here for _you_.” She doesn’t see the red mist like Ava does, but with the way it swirls around the man’s shoulders, amassing around his pistol, she doesn’t need to. The other men fall deep into red, poised for whatever comes next. 

Beatrice refuses to break eye contact. Her heart races, raging against Ava’s own chest in a silent, desperate cry. Ava wants to wretch herself free from the numbness, scream until her throat breaks, but her voice dies under the gun’s gaze. She just mumbles something incomprehensible to herself, trembling against Beatrice’s back.

“…. Bea,” she manages to whisper. The plea spills into the air, shaken but unmistakable. It’s pathetic, the way she sounds. But it doesn’t shake the nun in her arms. Her silhouette stands steady, framed by the blazing sun.

Beatrice takes in a deep breath, then lets out a steady exhale. She reaches behind her, over Ava’s shoulder. Something shakes against Ava’s back, and she hears the clatter of metal. Beatrice unsheathes the divinium sword. She firmly plants her stance, gripping the hilt with both hands. Her breathing is careful and calculated, but her heartbeat unmasks her fear. The crucifix-like hilt guards her chest, and the blue blade flashes toward the men. Ava’s heart drops. She can’t see the expression on Beatrice’s face, but she knows what’s going through her head. Her sword arm is steady; she doesn’t need to say anything. 

The man with the gun tenses. Only a few seconds pass them by, but blood pumping in Ava’s ears seems to draw out the time. He looks confused at first, watching the ethereal glow from the sword, but he soon snaps back to reality. He aims the gun higher, moving it to Beatrice’s chest.

“Oh, _fuck_ no!”

Gunfire rips through the dusk. The man with the gun drops to the pavement. He cries out, clinging to a shotgun wound on his knee. Another shot rings out, and the remaining men whip toward the alleyway they entered in. Sure enough, out comes Shotgun Mary in all her glory, firearms raised high. There’s a fire in her eyes, ignited by the red mist. It seems to shrink back at her presence, crawling up the apartment walls for leverage.

Then, there’s a battle cry. A single shot rings out, quieter this time. A crossbow bolt flies by the cheek of one of the men, nicking him slightly. And then the woman arrives, a little Camila sprinting towards the makeshift line of men. She’s accompanied by the roar of a lion, a will to fight that turns her throat sour. Mary drops one shotgun to reload another, but by the time she raises it again, the men are gone. The red mist trials behind them, dissipating into a trail along the dark alley. Sister Camila is fast on their heels, bringing the heavens down with her voice. 

Someone pulls one of Ava’s arms from Beatrice, throwing it over something soft and warm. When Ava looks up, Lilith is standing there, her hair a sleek gray for all to see. Thankfully, her claws are not out, and she has a gentle hold on Ava’s arm. 

“Can you walk?” Lilith asks. Her voice is hard, but subtle against Camila’s rage. Ava wills one of her legs to move, and a knee twitches in response. 

“Badly. But yeah,” Ava says. Lilith flashes a blink-and-you-miss-it smile, and it adds to the warmth in Ava’s chest. That snaps Sister Beatrice out of her trance, and she quickly sheathes the sword. She throws Ava’s other arm over her shoulder, helping Sister Lilith prop up the Halo Bearer. The two nuns glance at each other, one of them more sure of herself than the other.

“I’ve got a place for us to hide,” Lilith says, “Just follow my lead, and we’ll get there in one piece.”

“In this life or the next,” Beatrice says. She can’t conceal the smile on her face, or the nerves that spill through her system. Shotgun Mary races past them, scouting the route ahead. 

“C’mon! We can talk later!” Mary belts out. She charges into the streets, darting alongside corners to get a good vantage for the roads ahead. Before Ava knows it, her feet are on the move, pulled alongside Beatrice and Lilith. Her feet catch solid ground, releasing static with every step. They drag at this pace, but they still move forward when commanded to. Ava is caught on a pair of wings, drifting out of danger. But the gleam of the sword still haunts her, the mere seconds ago when Beatrice stood tall against the barrel of a gun. That moment was captured in Ava’s mind, ever-turning, forever analyzed from second to second. The red mist, the shakiness in Beatrice’s chest. The universe she held in her eyes. 

_Did she really do that for me?_

Ava picks up her feet, and she starts to sprint with ease. She relies less on her sisters, but still keeps a strong hold on Beatrice’s shoulder. She cranes her neck towards the nun, leaning into her frame a little more. 

“Thank you,” she breathes into her ear. Beatrice doesn’t regard her in the sweeping chaos, focused purely on the road ahead. Her gaze is locked on Mary, who forges a path ahead. Her braids fly behind her in a full sprint, zigzagging across the empty streets. But when Ava looks at Beatrice, she avoids Ava to hide a smile. There’s an unmistakable blush on her cheeks that glows against the growing dusk.

The wind whips through them all. Despite the blowback, Ava runs harder. Her heart leaps at every contraction of her muscles, with every step she takes towards freedom. She lets go of her sisters once she can feel her legs again, and for a split moment, throws her arms out as if they were wings. The more they run, the farther the men and black fall behind, until they disappear entirely. Her hair flies behind her, whisked away in the night. In all the chaos, Ava starts to laugh.

* * *

Ava’s leg arcs, landing squarely against the pillow Mary holds against her hip. It hits low, right against her thigh. Ava lets out a huff, twisting her body to gain leverage. Mary lets out a grunt at the impact, but she hardly flinches. 

“C’mon, Ava,” Mary says, shaking her head. “You gotta use those new legs of yours.”

Ava reels back, tripping over her own footing. “Shit! I’m trying!”

“Language,” Beatrice warns. She sits at a rustic table from across the room, crouched over the journal they found in the Cat’s Cradle. Her finger fiddles with the next page. The steadiness in her eyes weighs on Ava. The Halo Bearer is suddenly aware of every move her body makes. Her stance is sloppy, and she shifts her bare feet against the wooden floor. Ava scans the room, remembering what Mary said about keeping track of her surroundings. Furniture has been haphazardly shoved into the walls so that Ava and Mary have room to spar. Dust floats through the air; this apartment hasn’t been open up to the outside world in months. Now, a cool autumn breeze flows through the open windows. The first stars twinkle above the skyline, looking down on a city bathed in streetlight.

Mary taps Ava on the shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Ava steps forward; she’s careful with where she places her feet. Mary raises the pillow a little higher. Her shirt moves up for a moment, but long enough for Ava to notice purple bruises forming against her skin. Ava winces. Of course, this is what they get for substituting pillows for the kick shields at the Cat’s Cradle. 

“It’s fine, Ava,” Mary reassures her. “I’ve dealt with a hell of a lot worse.”

“But—” 

“It’s alright,” Mary says. She pauses, then snatches another pillow off the sofa. Lilith shifts in surprise, rising from a post-fight nap. She brushes her gray hair through her fingertips, and strands spill over her flannel shirt. The nun perks up as Mary slaps the stolen pillow against the first, adding a greater cushion against her waist. 

“Better?” Mary opens her waist to Ava, giving her a clear shot. “You just gotta kick higher this time.”

Ava nods. There’s a pause; Ava takes a deep breath, falling into her familiar stance. Then, she throws herself at Mary. Her shin smacks square against the other woman’s liver, just as she was taught. There’s a split second of perfect balance, the way Ava’s body contorts with precision. Her weight moves through the pillows, then bounces off her. Ava falls back into her stance, her feet firmly planted. Mary’s eyes brighten as she analyzes Ava’s form—it’s hard to miss the smirk on her face. 

Ava relaxes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She glances at Beatrice, her grin wide for the world to see. But the nun is deep in her research. She’s lost in the words on the page, her gaze searching endlessly. Beatrice must not have seen Ava’s kick; she mutters something to herself but doesn’t look up. She tugs at the drawstring of her sweater, but is otherwise motionless. She hasn’t even fixed her bun since the fight—stray strands of black stick out, framing her face. The methodical hum of the fan that seems to consume their space. A part of Ava sinks a little, settling into her stomach.

“Hands up,” Lilith warns.

_Fuck._

“I know,” Ava says. She brings her hands close to her face, shoulders rolled in.

“Do you?” Lilith asks. Ava lets out a sigh, and her frame relaxes.

“Do you have to be a backseat fighter?” Ava shoots back. Lilith sits up on the sofa, glancing between the other two women. She shrugs, but there’s a teasing smile on her face that’s brand-new to Ava. 

Camila enters the hallway as the three of them bicker. She halts at the sight of them, brown eyes wide. It’s strange to see her out of her habit, and even stranger to see her in some sort of punk band shirt and baggy sweats. They have to make do with what they find on their travels, but there’s a tug at the back of Ava’s mind that always asks if this outfit was intentional. Her hair is wavier than Ava expected, but still tied back in a bun like Beatrice’s. She fiddles with something in her hands, a little wooden box with dials on the front.

“Sparring?” Camila asks. “In the living room?” She motions to the furniture pushed into the walls, her voice incredulous.

“You expect anything else from us?” Mary asks. Camila sighs before setting the box on a nearby table. She pulls it across the wooden floors, toward the spot where the table used to be. Pulling up a chair, she sits in it haphazardly. From there, she could get a good look at the stars through the glass.

“I guess not,” she concedes. There’s a flash of a smile on her face, one that seems to brighten up the room. She picks up the little box, fiddling with the dials again. Camila presses a button, and there’s static—the radio coughs and sputters, and then the faint sound of a voice comes through the speaker. She shuts it off with a huff, flipping the radio around and opening up the box to examine the wires underneath.

“Is that a radio?” Ava asks. She forgets about Mary’s sparring practice for a moment, walking over to Camila. Mary sighs, letting go of her tight grip on the pillows.

“Oh, I found it in the supply closet. It’s old, but I thought I’d try fixing it,” Camila admits. “Something to keep my mind off things.”

“You think you can?” Lilith asks. She leans back into the sofa, bumping her elbow against Mary’s shotguns that are left strewn across the side table. They’re left unloaded, with dirty parts laid bare.

“Well, if I just…” 

Camila hunches over the rustic table, directly across from Beatrice. Her hands are delicate, handling the radio’s insides as if she’s performing surgery. Camila shakes the table with her movements, making Beatrice shift in her seat.

Ava glances at Beatrice, and the pit in her stomach buries deeper. She’s definitely listening to their conversation, but she stays focused on her studies. Beatrice is framed by white windowsills and fake houseplants, and for Ava, that sight alone makes time unwind itself. Worn cardboard boxes are scattered around Beatrice’s feet, but stars shine over her. She’s huddled in the dark, trying to read in dim light. She doesn’t notice the starlight.

Suddenly, the apartment erupts with static. There’s a familiar beat in the air, rung out by a guitar. Upbeat piano notes make the room sway; they lighten Ava’s soul in an instant. Even Beatrice looks up. Camila sets the radio on the table. Then, she jumps out of her chair, bouncing with excitement. The radio’s voice is garbled and quiet, even with the volume dialed to the maximum setting. It’s easily overpowered by Camila’s cheers of delight, but that doesn’t stop her celebration in the slightest. 

“Oh my god,” Ava breathes. Lilith flashes her a dirty look at the Lord’s name, but it can’t hold the Halo Bearer back. Ava prances across the room, swaying with the drumbeat. She grasps Camila’s hands, pulling her into the center of the room. 

“You did it!” Ava proclaims. She swings the sister warrior across the empty floor, hands clasped tight. Their giggles erupt into the atmosphere. It cuts through the tension in the room, erases the violence they experienced mere hours ago. Camila starts full-on laughing. Her smile spills out, exposing her light for all to see. She swings Ava’s arms, letting her go and fastening onto her again. It’s almost sacred, the way they spiral together, letting the music take them. They fly across the apartment, compelled by nothing but the night breeze.

There’s something familiar about that raspy voice on the radio. When it clicks for Ava, the music sends her back to St. Michael’s. Diego would always change the radio station when Sister Frances was preoccupied, especially on Ava’s bad days. They were left stiff in that little room, but they would still hum together to whatever came on. The notes propelled them somewhere else. Somewhere filled with lights and movement, much like the nightlife below the windowsill. Now, Diego is gone, but Ava can move effortlessly, spinning her new friend across the wooden floor. And now there are these new girls, crowded together in these musty walls, stuck in a country that speaks a language Ava doesn’t know. 

At that moment, Ava can’t help but grin. She’s always wondered what it’d be like, working in circles with another human being. One that encouraged her to lead with a glimmer in her eye, who watched her movements and followed them with a spring in her step. Diego always tried, Ava will give him that, but he was so little, and this was so much different. It’s different from the rave, from the mansions with JC and his crew. Ava was rigid in those moments, watching every twitch in her composure and every glance sent her way. She always overcorrected herself. Ava bumps into the table on occasion, or steps over Camila’s feet, but there’s never an awkward pause. Camila will crinkle her nose, or giggle at some silly pose that Ava makes; there is no judgment here. Just music, laughter, and the glow of fluorescent lights. 

“Shouldn’t we be practicing?” Lilith interjects. Ava jumps at her voice—she almost forgot that the others were there. Mary leans against the wall, pillows thrown aside. She taps her foot to the drums that bang over the static. Her arms are crossed. She seems pleased by the situation playing out before her, glancing between Lilith and the two dancers with a certain light in her eyes. Ava lets go of Camila, letting her hands fall to her sides. 

“Hey, it’s a quick break,” Ava says. She glances at Mary, trying to work her puppy eyes. “A little bit of cardio doesn’t hurt, right?”

Mary rolls her eyes at Ava. She lets out a huff; her foot taps to the beat absentmindedly. Camila races to the sofa, grabbing Lilith’s arms and hoisting her out of her seat. 

“Come onnnnn, Lilith!” Camila insists. The smaller nun drags her into the center of the room, to Lilith’s apparent horror. Camila is surprisingly strong, guiding her into a shaky line dance. Lilith’s eyes are blown wide, and there’s a clear red blush on her cheeks. She starts to spit something out about how this is completely unnecessary, but her feet soon fall into a mock imitation of Camila’s movements. The sister warrior can walk through hell, but she can’t seem to challenge Camila’s boundless energy. Confusion meets pure joy in the middle of the dance floor. It’s comical, Ava thinks, the way those two bounce off each other. Lilith’s steps are timid and thoughtful, and Camila takes every second in stride. They both have Ava doubled over in laughter, and as she finds a moment to breathe, she realizes that Mary is laughing too. Pretty soon, even Lilith is smiling. She bends down to twirl Camila properly, and they snicker at each other as they attempt a badly-improvised swing dance. Camila wrestles one hand free from Lilith’s grasp, motioning to Ava to join in. 

Ava glances back at Mary. Her lips tug into a smirk, taking steps back to egg her on. 

“Don’t make me—”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Mary says, raising her hands in mock defeat. She walks into the center of the room, and the two sisters open the floor for them both. The four sister warriors form a circle, trying to copy whatever the hell Camila is doing. Mary picks up the patterns fast, and she’s soon dancing circles around Lilith. Right as Lilith finds her footing, she starts tripping over herself in Mary’s presence. Ava jumps in with gusto, but she can’t quite seem to get the rhythm right. She’s guided the radio, but Camila’s footwork is lost on her. Then again, Lilith isn’t doing much better, so that should count for something. 

Amongst the gleeful shouts and bad singalongs, Ava glances at Beatrice. She still sits in her chair, in perfect posture, but there’s a faint smile on her lips. She’s watching all of them stumble over each other, absorbing all the love from afar. Ava makes eye contact with her, and the smile quickly fades. She pulls the journal up to hide her face, and there’s the slightest blush on her cheeks. But she won’t meet Ava’s gaze—she’s concentrated in the journal, but she doesn’t read the words. 

Ava looks back. The other sisters are swept up by the chorus. Camila doubles over in laughter as Mary pulls Lilith into a makeshift tango. Lilith complains less now; she’s far more caught up in the way Mary guides her across the floor. They don’t seem to notice Ava leave the circle, nor do they see her hop-step to Beatrice’s side. Ava’s throat contracts when Beatrice looks at her again. A bolt rips through Ava’s heart—it tries to shut down her nervous system all over again. The static binds them both, but Ava lets it pass. They could have both died today; she doesn’t have time to listen to nerves. Nor does Beatrice have time to sit with a book she’s read one too many times. Not with the radio blasting through the atmosphere. 

Ava can’t find her voice, but she doesn’t need it. Instead, she extends a hand to Beatrice. The warmth in her chest spills out, and Ava gives her a knowing smile. 

“Um…” Beatrice starts. Ava’s heart flutters at the sound of her voice. Beatrice fidgets with the pages between her fingers. “I—I haven’t danced in a while.”

“I haven’t danced in twelve years. And you can’t be as bad as Lilith,” Ava jokes. There’s that smile again, just a tug on Beatrice’s lips. 

Ava extends her hand further, leaning in. “C’mon, Bea. We can both suck together.”

Beatrice sits with her for a moment. She drops the book, letting her hands fall into her lap. She’s glued to the chair, her body stiff with that static between them. But one finger betrays Beatrice; it taps against her knee. Her other hand reaches for something against her side. There’s a glimmer of blue. The divinium sword is propped up against her chair—Beatrice hasn’t let it go since the fight. Her gaze is distant, following the craftsmanship of the hilt. The symbol of the cross weighs heavy on her hip. Her brows furrow, and it scrunches her nose in a way that makes Ava falter. Ava can’t read Beatrice’s thoughts, but she is certainly making her mind up about something.

Beatrice doesn’t say anything. She takes Ava’s hand; she lets Ava pull her from the comfort of the chair. The sword shifts without Beatrice’s support, but it does not clatter to the ground. Instead, it still leans against the old wood, unaffected. Ava guides her away, but she doesn’t look to see where she’s going. She trusts where her soul takes her; she lets herself get caught in Beatrice’s eyes. Ava and Beatrice walk to the beat of the music, entering the makeshift circle. Stars spill from the window, framing the group of five.

“Hey!” Camila says in a cheery tone, waving to Beatrice. The youngest nun quickly gets caught up in whatever dance Mary started. She doesn’t notice the way Beatrice nods to hide her smile. Ava lets go of Beatrice, but continues to lure her to the dancefloor. The two women mirror each other’s steps. They are swept up by the gravelly voice on the radio, moved by the drums. Ava glances out the window, and from here, she can see the Seine flow through the city. Old Christmas lights twinkle around them, hastily thrown up to make the space a bit homier. Amongst the lights, the laughter, and the feet that pound the floorboards, Ava is lost in Beatrice’s eyes.

Beatrice snatches Ava up before she gets the chance to react. She puts a gentle hand on her waist, another on her shoulder. She sends Ava flying in a tumble of footsteps. Of course, Beatrice is classically trained in… well, something. Ava has no clue what kind of dance this is, but they might as well be in a ballroom, the way Beatrice leads her with perfect form. Each step is thoughtful, exactly on cue. Ava, on the other hand, is a disaster. She falls back on occasion, more concerned about not stepping on Beatrice’s toes than actually perfecting the moves. But her limbs are still new to her. Though she drapes one arm over the nun’s shoulder, the rest of her is unpredictable. She trips over herself when Beatrice twirls her. Ava’s cheeks burn more with every awkward turn, every missed step. 

The hardest thing is looking Beatrice in the eye. There’s no remorse or irritation there, but there should be. Instead, when Ava accidentally tugs her in the wrong direction, Beatrice tries to follow her new lead. When Ava swings out too far, Beatrice turns it into an impromptu twirl. Beatrice always brings Ava right back, without a harsh word or a glance of judgment sent her way. There’s just a soft smile there, and the occasional outburst of laughter. 

As Beatrice lets go of her routine, Ava feels a weight lift off her back. She drops her hands, to take Beatrice’s own hand off her waist. Then, she does what Ava does best—she spins. The two girls spiral out of control, each propelled by the other. They both erupt into a fit of childlike giggles. Eventually, Ava grows dizzy, and Beatrice picks her up right where they left off. There isn’t an insistent tug back into the expected rhythm; Beatrice opens her up to the possibility, and Ava obliges. 

When Ava glances back at the other girls, she notices that Mary and Camila are watching her. Lilith is lost in the music, still trying to perfect the steps that Mary taught her. Camila flashes Ava a smile as Beatrice carries her across the floor. Mary has that all-knowing smirk on her face; she doesn’t need to say anything for Ava to know. The mighty Halo Bearer’s cheeks flush red again, and she shoots Mary a dirty look before Beatrice pulls her away. As the piano sings, Ava realizes that she’s been watching Beatrice’s patterns. She follows in stride with her movements, reflecting each step she takes. 

Ava looks up at Beatrice, and her heart hits the floor. She didn’t realize how close they were until now. They’re caught in each other eyes. Ava gets a glimpse of what’s behind Beatrice’s gaze. Her pupils illuminate the story of her past, yet so many possibilities form from her branching irises. And Beatrice’s galaxies reflect back, scanning for every detail in Ava’s soul. The once-wistful music suddenly turns into a barrage of noise, a pandemonium of drums and guitar. Ava’s chest tightens, and she starts to fumble again. Beatrice carries her along, picking up where Ava cannot; that’s what scares her the most. Ava goes stiff again. She’s trapped under a pair of soft eyes. Beatrice’s hands warm hers, but Ava’s fingers are shaking. 

That little voice in her head overpowers the song, making her heart clench tighter. Flight, not fight. That’s how Ava works. She shouldn’t expect anything different, even in a moment as painfully obvious as this.

Eventually, Beatrice interrupts their dance. She whispers her name, a question on her lips. Even though Ava can’t move, she can still crane her neck. She glances out the window.

Despite her numbing fear, Paris still sings. It whispers to her softly, breathing with the cold night air. The sounds of traffic fade as sleep descends on the city. Ava is fascinated with the sparks of light in every apartment window, every shadow that passes down the street. Her legs could run a hundred marathons and it would never be enough for her. And there are still other cities to explore, whole countries that Ava has never seen. They all rest under that same starlight, waiting, tempting her from the horizon’s edge. Those same constellations that watch them now once twinkled over her sickbed each night. They give her a chance to breathe, a chance to feel that one twitch in her finger, that bolt of energy that makes her heart tingle. 

Ava turns to Beatrice. The friend by her side, the one who pulled the divinium sword from her back without a second thought. The one that dragged her out of danger until she could free herself again. The one that, if not for the Halo and Mary’s good aim, could be dead right now, or possessed by a deluge of red. She is God’s miracle, crafted by starlight. A shiver runs down Ava’s spine. 

Ava pulls Beatrice in, despite the way her heart screams for safety. She doesn’t listen. Instead, she plants a soft kiss on the nun’s cheek. She lingers there for a moment, and something shifts. Her heart spills out on the dancefloor, along with shattered remnants of its protective casing. There’s a musty smell to the other girl’s sweater, mixed with a hint of sweetness. Her freckles trace the constellations just outside the open window. Beatrice’s eyes flutter at Ava’s touch. 

_Uh oh._

Now Beatrice the one struck by static. She stiffens at the kiss, her hands glued to Ava’s waist. 

_Did I just do that?_

Ava gives her a moment to breathe. Beatrice’s cheeks burn from the kiss; she raises her hand to mark the spot herself. She’s silhouetted by the skyline, the nightlife shines from below, making her radiant. Mere seconds pass, and each one sends both their souls plummeting further from their chests. 

That’s it, Ava decides. It’s time to run again. Become some sort of vigilante demon hunter, never to be seen by human eyes. She’d work under the cover of dark, maybe live in a cave somewhere. Anything to keep her from showing her face, especially to this girl wrapped in her arms.

Then, Beatrice erupts in a chuckle. It’s forced out of her, demanding to be heard. There’s that smile on her lips that Ava adores, but this time, she can’t hide it. Ava grins wide, giggling along with her. The Halo Bearer can’t help but rush in, embracing Beatrice and her pen-stained sweater. She huddles under the crook of Beatrice’s neck, and she pours herself out into Beatrice’s shoulder. The music from the radio fades, replaced by laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, that was a long one. We'll see how the final chapter goes...


	4. 1 Corinthians 13:13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Amsterdam** by Gregory Alan Isakov because this is the goddamn avatrice theme song and NOBODY can fight me on this
> 
> And okay, I KNOW it’s the consensus that Ava would make the first move, but I changed my mind last minute and just let me have this I'm SOFT

It’s their last night in France, and for once, Beatrice isn’t curled up on the floor. Camila insisted that it was Beatrice’s turn for a good night’s sleep. She can remember getting into an argument that she was far too tired for; it was late into the night, and they all were wandered off to bed with swollen feet and slurred speech. Now, Beatrice splays out on the couch, huddled underneath a heap of blankets. Her arm hangs off the cushion, fingers grazing the floorboards. It’s pitch-black in the apartment, save the nightscape peeking through the curtains. Camila snores softly, settled on the wooden floor in front of Beatrice. She’s surrounded by boxes and furniture, left unattended after their dance. Her silhouette rises and falls in the dim light—it’s a tinge of blue, reflected by the divinium sword only a few feet away. Her old radio sits upright on the table, patiently waiting to be turned on again. Christmas lights wind around the walls, twinkling softly above them. They must have forgotten to shut them off before Beatrice drifted to sleep. The heater buzzes softly, mixed with Camila’s snores and Beatrice’s own breathing. Beyond that, it’s quiet. Beatrice sighs, curling under the covers. This could be the Cat’s Cradle if she shuts her eyes. She basks in a silence that she hasn’t felt in a long time. 

That is, until a sharp _thud_ sends Beatrice flying out of the covers. She reels to her feet, quick to pull out the knives she hid under the couch. She freezes, caught in her fighting stance. It must have come from the window, draped in curtains. Beatrice fights the shakiness in her hands as she pulls one of them back. She’s immediately met with moonlight; it makes water droplets glisten on the balcony railing. A maze of buildings stretches out before her, twisting with darkened windows and carved asphalt. An empty street sits below, lit by fluorescent light. 

The heater dominates the atmosphere again. Camila was right—Beatrice hasn’t slept well since the fight at the Vatican. She should certainly be more like her fellow sister, who sleeps soundly despite the disturbance. The quiet is almost suffocating. Part of her wants to step out onto the balcony, take a deep breath of the cold Parisian night, but she holds herself back. She shouldn’t be up this late, especially if they want to sneak into Brussels tomorrow. She stuffs the knife back under the couch, collapsing in a little huff.

Another _thud_ sends Beatrice back on her feet. Her gaze whips to the windowsill, and there’s a black boot pressed firmly against the glass. There’s a flash of silver, and Beatrice recognizes the symbol of the OCS on the buckle.

“Shit!”

The walls mute Ava’s swearing, but not well enough. The boot rises, then collapses, revealing more of the Halo Bearer’s form in the window. She’s in mixed attire, with skinny jeans tucked under her training boots. She dangles precariously from the ledge—oh. She’s climbing the _roof_. Looking into the street below, Beatrice instinctively signs the cross over her chest. She races for the door, and it flings out into the balcony.

“Ava!” Beatrice has to bat away a stray boot to bust through. The fresh night air hits her immediately. Beatrice wraps her hands around her sleep sweater, glaring up at the other girl. She leans against the railing, glancing at the long drop to the asphalt.

“Oh! Hi,” Ava calls back. She dangles from the eaves, trying to pull herself up. She’s got a firm grip with one hand, but the other barely holds on with her fingertips. She glances up to the rooftop, then back at Beatrice. Stringy brown hair whips with the wind, buffeted by the oncoming storm.

“Uh…this is fine,” Ava insists. Beatrice scoffs.

“Sneaking off in the middle of the night? Again?” Beatrice scolds her, though she can’t help the smile crawling across her face. 

“Yeah?” Ava says. She can’t quite look at Beatrice from here, but she directs her voice toward her. “It’s our last night, I wanna go stargazing.”

“You can climb rooftops in Brussels, you know,” Beatrice mutters through chattering teeth. “Not to mention we have a _legion_ of militia looking for you here.” She hugs herself tight against the night wind. If she knew it would take this long to talk Ava down, she would have grabbed a coat. But the Halo Bearer clings on, her eyes glued to the sky. 

“But it’s Paris…” 

Ava shimmies up toward the rooftop, pulling herself up to her elbows. Her foot slams on the glass, making Beatrice wince. Ava seems to notice. Her legs relax, and she sighs to herself. 

“Shit, did I wake you up? I’m sorry—”

“Not really,” Beatrice admits, sighing at her use of language but not stopping to correct her. “I just… I heard you out here, and you worried me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ava speaks into her shoulder. Her hand immediately slips, and. Beatrice’s heart leaps out of her chest. Before she can react, Ava finds her grip on the eaves again. Her boots dangle in the air, dangerously far from the balcony railing.

“Ava, you’re going to fall!” Beatrice calls to her.

“I’ll walk it off.” Ava says. She tries to pull herself up again, but with no luck.

“Ava, you can really be—” 

Before she can call her selfish, Ava loses her grip again. The Halo Bearer sways limply over the side of the railing, only holding on to safety with one hand. Beatrice is quick to act, rushing to Ava’s side and wrapping her boots around her chest. The nun gets only a glance over the railing, but it’s enough to send her heartbeat in a frenzy. The pavement is several stories down, cast by dark windows. She logically understands that Ava could survive the fall, but she can’t bear to picture the sight of Ava losing her grip. She quickly pulls away, clasped tight to Ava’s boots.

“Th-Thanks,” Ava stutters from above, breathless. She uses Beatrice’s hold to pull herself up, taking the eaves for the third time. She looks down at the long drop below. The nun’s eyes start to water, but it must be from the wind. It’s a bit warmer here, holding onto Ava’s legs, which act as a natural buffer against the freezing cold. 

For once, Beatrice glimpses at the stars. Clouds pass overhead, but they don’t blot out the sky completely. Little planets blink back at her; she can identify Venus over Ava’s left shoulder. There are so many worlds spinning around them, clustered around the Halo Bearer in the eaves. They don’t seem to mind their dramatic flailing on the balcony, nor do the clouds pause. This could be the beginning of a storm, with the way the winds buffet Beatrice’s sweater. But the clouds are calm, sifting through the sky at their own pace. 

Beatrice lets out a deep sigh.

“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” she asks. There’s a pause, and Ava settles into her hold on the rooftop.

“Probably not,” Ava admits through gritted teeth. She reaches further, eyes glued to the sky. She clings onto the flat rooftop; her hand searches for something to hold but finds nothing.

“Alright, then,” Beatrice decides. She drops down, letting Ava’s boots press into her shoulders. Ava gets the idea quickly, and as Beatrice heaves up, so does Ava pull herself over the roof’s ledge. As she scrambles up, Beatrice sighs as the weight lifts off her shoulders.  
“Let me know if you need help getting down,” Beatrice says. Ava peeks over the rooftop, fingers dangling over the side. There’s a glint in her eyes that Beatrice is starting to familiarize herself with, the kind of look that only comes out in quiet moments like this. Beatrice gives her a small smile, then heads toward the door. Her hand brushes over the railing, ice-cold to the touch.

“Bea?” Ava’s voice is quiet, but loud enough to echo through the empty streets. Beatrice freezes against the railing. Her fingers clasp metal, and ice seizes her arm. It crawls up to her chest, but can’t quite reach her heart. There’s a warm, bubbly feeling that seizes her in Ava’s presence. It protects her from the winter cold by sending her off to a place that she’s been taught to never entertain. That warmth had been shut away years ago, she thought. She never expected that she’d be able to sit with it again so openly, but here it is, steadfast against the night wind. 

“Do you wanna go stargazing with me?” Ava asks. Beatrice’s heart spikes; she manages a glance at Ava. She’s taken by her childlike grin and the hint of light on her back. Ava extends a hand down from the roof, her palm open to the nun beneath her. The Halo Bearer is restless, endlessly shifting against the roof. Beatrice’s voice is caught in her throat, but when she speaks again, the cold railing overtakes her heart.

“We have to get to—”

“Brussels, I know.” 

Beatrice starts a counterargument, but something catches her eye. Dark windows watch them from across the street, blocking her view of the Parisian nightscape. She knows that the Eiffel Tower is somewhere over that rooftop, but she can’t see it. The window across the street reflects onto her. It’s the still portrait of a woman with a quiet Mona Lisa smile. Beatrice doesn’t recognize herself out of her habit, but she must have known this girl once before. There’s something about the way stray hairs poke out of her bun, or the gentleness of her fingers that clasp the folds of her sweater. Beatrice turns back to Ava, who waits patiently from the eaves.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” Beatrice admits. Ava chuckles, shaking her head.

“You aren’t,” Ava says matter-of-factly. Her voice never quavers, never questions itself. “It’s no fun stargazing alone, anyway.”

Beatrice glances back at the reflection in the window. There’s a fire in her eyes that she hasn’t seen in years. The winter chill cuts through her skin, but that warmth in her chest is unwavering. The girl in the glass is alive, tense in her posture yet rearing to jump into action. She could race down the street without looking over her shoulder. She could clamber over ancient Roman walls and explore every inch of the winding district roads. The men in black were an afterthought, along with the demons and the women clad in wimples. There was just that flame in her heart, that sheer faith in where the roads would take her.

Was this what Ava felt like when she came back to life? Beatrice looks to the girl in the eaves, and her light doesn’t dare falter.

“You get twenty minutes,” Beatrice decides.

Ava gives her a little cheer, and Beatrice can’t help but smile back. She takes Ava’s hand. Beatrice forgets how strong Ava can be under the Halo’s power; Beatrice uses her arm like a tightrope to climb up the wall. Ava takes care of the rest, heaving Beatrice up to her side. 

When Beatrice looks up, she lets out a gasp. The cityscape lays out before them, decorated in soft yellow light. The Seine cuts through the streets like a slick knife, carving across Paris with its reflective waves. The city weaves around the river, connecting itself with stone bridges and ancient architecture. The Eiffel Tower stands tall on the horizon. It’s silhouetted by starlight and cuts into twisting storm clouds. Ava jumps to her hands and knees, crawling over the roof’s ridge. She slides over the side, resting against the shingles. Beatrice follows her lead, careful not to disturb the sleeping girls underneath them.

“You know, sometimes you have good ideas,” Beatrice says. She slides beside Ava, and they both lie side by side. 

“I know,” Ava says.

The wind howls above them, but the roof protects them from its wrath. Beatrice’s hands are frozen, but she doesn’t dare put them in her pockets. She just lies there with Ava, feeling the cold on her skin. Her hair ruffles in the breeze, reaching for the Seine’s waters. Ava’s presence is overwhelming, even when Beatrice fixates on the sky. They scour Paris together; they don’t have the words to describe it at first. The shimmering colors in the river, the magnificent cathedrals that stand the test of time, the blanket of darkness that covers it all. The world sinks into Beatrice, seeping into every prick of her finger and shift of her feet. Her body lightens under the weight of the sky, but it stays tethered to the girl beside her. It’s just a glance, but she notices the smile in Ava’s eyes and the twitch of her fingers that stray dangerously close to hers.

Beatrice’s throat closes up in an all-too-familiar way. If she doesn’t let the nightscape absorb her, then she’ll forget how to breathe. So, Beatrice talks about the stars. She explains the constellations to Ava, pointing out Ursa Minor on their right. A laugh escapes the girl’s lips when Beatrice describes how that little panhandle could be a bear with a particularly long tail, hurrying to catch up with its mother. The overwhelming burden on Beatrice’s chest starts to fade as she points out Cancer above her. She’s lost in her own description of how its four stars align. Ava goes quiet as Beatrice describes Aries next. Ava’s silhouette is lit by the spine of the ram. Her eyes absorb the stars, and she contains a quiet giggle in her awe of it all.

“How do you know all of this?” Ava cuts in. The nun pauses, watching her breath float away into the atmosphere.

“I used to stargaze when I was little,” Beatrice says. “Back when I lived in London, I would climb out of my bedroom window to get some peace of mind.” A breeze caught her sweater, making her shiver. She can almost picture that window now, that comfortable spot she found in the eaves. “I learned all the constellations rather quickly. But then I went to boarding school, and I never had the chance since then.”

Ava nods quietly. Her breath forms little clouds too, carried off by the breeze. 

“This is my first time, I think,” Ava says, “Unless my mom and I stargazed before she died. I don’t remember.” That makes Beatrice turn her head. She’s caught in the other girl’s silhouette, dark against the lit nightscape. Ava is star-struck, lost in the constellations. 

Despite the pain of yesterday, she’s capturing the landscape with such certainty. 

Ava lets out a deep breath.

“It’s so pretty.”

Beatrice mutters a tone of agreement, turning back to the sky. “We’ll have to find a place a bit more remote, someday. The city lights block out most of the starlight.”

“Bea, who cares? We’re in Paris!” Ava says with a smile. She squirms against the shingles, and her stomach tightens with laughter. “It’s beautiful out here, and… so much bigger than I imagined.”

There’s that word again. _Beautiful._ Ava glances at Beatrice when the word leaves her lips, but she quickly turns back to the sky. Beatrice can taste it in the night air, floating in the space between them. It slows time, blurring her world into a spectrum of lights. A million thoughts surface and connect, but Ava materializes with such mental clarity that it hurts. Beatrice tries to shove her thoughts down, but she’s still left with that bubbling warmth in her chest. She looks to the Eiffel Tower for guidance, its tower aglow with a heavenly light. It pricks the sky, sending cracks in the atmosphere.

“This is my first time in Paris,” Beatrice admits. Ava’s gaze whips to face her. Her brown eyes are wide, swallowing the dark. 

“Really?”

“Yes?” Beatrice says, turning to her. They’re both sprawled on the roof, side-by-side, soaking up starlight. 

“But… you’re a Sister Warrior,” Ava says. “You could go anywhere in the world if you wanted to.”

“Not really,” Beatrice says. She puts one hand on her chest, the other splayed out by Ava’s side. “We go where the demons go. There's been missions to Paris, but I’ve never volunteered. Too much work back at the Cat’s Cradle. Or elsewhere.”

Ava scoffs. “That hasn’t stopped Mary. It seems like she knows the local secrets of every place we go.”

“I know,” Beatrice says. She turns back to the stars, but for once, she doesn’t name the constellations. She just sees them for what they are—blinking lights, traveling through space for millennia just to reach them both. They shiver under the cold, but Beatrice doesn’t dare think about leaving. She could sit here forever, lost in galaxies that watch over the rooftops.

“It’s like I said. I haven’t stargazed in a while,” Beatrice speaks solemnly, “I-I think I’ve been running from this for a long time.”

“Why?”

“I worry about what God will think of me. I wonder…” Beatrice trails off. She finds herself clutching the little crucifix on her neck. The metal stings against her fingertips, but she holds it close anyway.

“So many people have tried to change me for His sake, and I’ve followed them without question,” Beatrice says, “Everyone has tried to mold me into something I’m not, except for God. And you. A-and the other sisters.” Beatrice starts to sniffle, and her voice wavers. “I just… I think I’m afraid that He’s loved me this whole time.”

Ava holds her breath, letting Beatrice’s statement settle.

“I think you’re onto something,” Ava says. She bumps shoulders with Bea, giving her a soft smile. “But does it have to be scary?”

Beatrice lets out a shaky breath. Naturally, she looks to the stars for answers. Beatrice craves these little moments like this, when Ava’s excitable demeanor shifts into an honest peace, absorbed into the present moment in an entirely different way. It always a surprise, how thoughtful Ava can be. Then again, from a death-defying, formerly quadriplegic girl, she really shouldn’t expect much else.

“I’ve been hiding for so long,” Beatrice says. Her gaze traces the stars, then settles on the clouds overhead. “I-I don’t know if I know how to stop.”

In the quiet, Beatrice can hear Ava chuckle to herself. “I mean, you didn’t forget the constellations,” Ava points out. “And I didn’t forget how to walk. You’re gonna remember, someday.”

“I hope so.” Beatrice agrees. A lamplight flickers in the distance, fighting the cold. The Seine is immovable against the pounding in her chest, the uneasiness in her stomach. It flows on, spilling across the landscape. A million lights dapple its waves, spraying out to form a mirage of color. Beatrice can’t make out one individual hue, no matter how hard she tries. They all blend together, shimmering under starlight. She sniffles again, feeling that warmth seize her chest. This time, she takes her hand off her cross to wipe the tears away.  
“Hey…” Ava’s voice cuts through the quiet. She shuffles toward Beatrice, and the nun freezes. Ava’s fingers slide into hers, and they clasp together gently. 

There’s that warmth again, roaring through her fingertips. Neither of them says anything, but Beatrice has lost the ability to speak. Perhaps Ava knows, but she doesn’t show it. Beatrice’s frozen fingers start to wake from their slumber. Ava strokes Beatrice’s hand with her thumb, and it sends shivers down her spine. Beatrice can only watch the stars with a red-hot burn on her cheeks. The cold battles with that inner fire, making her stiff again. She silently pleads to the stars, begs permission for a simple glance at the girl beside her, but they just blink back. There will never be an answer, Beatrice realizes. Or she’s been given an answer that she can’t see. 

When Beatrice finally turns her head, she forgets how to breathe. Starlight flickers in Ava’s eyes. She’s unapologetic in her gaze, lost in the nun’s eyes as if she bears galaxies of her own.

“You still have us,” Ava echoes Beatrice’s own words. It sends Beatrice back to ARQ-tech; industrial lights, Ava’s timid voice in her ear, and twenty feet of stone. “And we’ll never leave you.”

The world washes away in an instant. There’s a blur of lights that frame Ava’s silhouette, but they don’t dare contend against that twinkle in her eye. Beatrice is grounded by their interwoven fingers, tethered to the roof while floating off into space. For the first time, Beatrice figures out how to breathe. Her hand stills, and she realizes that Ava’s fingers had been shaking, too.

“You mean that?” Beatrice echoes back. 

“Yeah,” Ava admits, letting a smile creep across her face. She struggles to hide the pulse of the Halo on her back. It hums softly between them, adding music to their little atmosphere. They become entrapped in one another, and Paris starts to fade away. There’s only the chill on Beatrice’s skin and the light in Ava’s eyes, pulling her closer. Ava gives Beatrice’s hand a tight squeeze.

“Um. Beatrice…” Ava starts. She starts to say something, then stops. Something glistens on her cheek, and she flinches. Her eyes grow wide, shooting towards the clouds. A fleck of white falls to her nose, just caressing the tip. Then, the hysterics begin.

“Oh my god,” Ava says, “It’s snowing!” She looks around, wild-eyed. She holds out her hands, scrunching up her coat sleeves to feel the snowflakes on her skin. She smiles with that ecstatic, infectious grin of hers. At some point, in the quiet, she bursts out laughing. Her voice is untethered, ringing against the stifling cold. It challenges the Eiffel Tower beyond them, almost daring for the landscape to laugh back.

Something cold falls on Beatrice’s neck. The nun looks to the clouds, where stars mix with heavy white flakes. They drift slowly, circling around the two women on the rooftop. White splotches dust Beatrice’s shoulders, and she can feel the moisture settle on her scalp. It patterns against the shingles, filling the quiet atmosphere with a gentle tap. The wind settles down at the sudden outpour, as if it were finally satisfied. Beatrice sits up, opening her palms to catch the gift from the sky. Little flecks grace her skin, sending cold through her veins. Snow melts instantly against the rooftop, but Beatrice can see white pile into the streets below. The snowflakes twinkle like little satellites, crashing down from the heavens. They blanket the lampposts, causing the world to dim around them. A car passes underneath them with bright headlights, searching through the wall of spiraling snow.

Ava lets out another child-like giggle. Her gaze is locked on the sky, and her mouth is slightly agape. Her smiling eyes are awestruck. Snow drifts into her hair, braiding itself between strands of brown with thick white lace. Ava cups her hands out to the stars, almost copying Beatrice’s makeshift prayer. But she demands nothing at this moment; the snow is a blessing enough. Ava sticks her tongue out, scrunching her nose as she does so. There’s a touch of disappointment on her face when a snowflake lands—perhaps she was expecting more than the taste of ice. The disappointment fades when her eyes catch the lights on the river, shimmering against the storm. Snow filters the sleeping city, showering it in a reflective white. Ava analyzes every snowflake as if it’s the last she’ll ever see, or as if it’s the first she’s ever known; Beatrice can’t really tell. There’s an angelic glow to her Halo; it catches the flecks that glisten in the atmosphere. Her smile is radiant, spilling out for the world to see.

“Wow.” Beatrice voices her thoughts aloud. Ava turns to look at her. Feeling a blush creep into her cheeks, she immediately turns away. When she gives the Halo Bearer a quick glance, her smile never fades. Ava is caught in her own rapture. She fixates on the snow that settles on Beatrice’s sweater and speckles her tied-up hair. She glances at the gold cross that glints off Beatrice’s chest, following the chain around her neck. 

Beatrice’s heart seizes, and she forces herself to look away. The nun scans Paris for an escape, silently begging the waters of the Seine to carry her away. But the city lies motionless, and the rooves lack fire escapes. 

That sickening feeling in her heart takes over, an inky black smothering its flame. Even the thought of looking at Ava again makes her lungs seize. She cocoons herself with her knees, her frozen hands flat on the shingles. All she can do is watch the snow flutter. The world stays quiet, giving her space to question the storm. A million thoughts run through her mind—she can picture the glances the other nuns would give her during mass, the whispers floating around the halls of her old boarding school. The accusations, the shouting, the stars outside her bedroom window. But also, the Halo Bearer surrounded by orchids. The angels with outstretched wings, the knights in the hallway, and Ava’s laughter echoing through the dark. 

Then, Beatrice thinks of the red mist that settled like snow. Several hours ago, someone held her against the jaws of death. She can feel the burn in her wrists now, the bruises it leaves on her skin. She couldn’t see the wraith demons, but she could sense their presence. She breathed in that inner hell. But a singular light broke through it all. A light that broke through walls, broke through bonds, and now, breaks through the darkness to illuminate the snow. That light is one of God’s greatest miracles, after all, and she’s one of the lucky few to have witnessed it.

It’s that light that Beatrice knows she must fight for. That thought alone cuts through her fear. She takes a deep breath, savoring the ice that settles in her lungs.

“Ava, I’ve been… dishonest with you.” 

Beatrice’s throat immediately closes up. Ava’s eyes widen in curiosity. Her smile falters somewhat, but there’s still that excitement in her eyes, unabashedly faithful in what Beatrice has to say. Beatrice doesn’t dare look away again. She sits with that slick oil in her heart as it drips down into her stomach. The snow seems to quench it somewhat. Each icy sting on her skin brings Beatrice back to the Parisian night. City lights meld around the girl beside her, creating a fluorescent hue. 

“I… um…” Beatrice starts. The darkness coagulates in her throat, stifling her words. Ava leans in, settling her arms on her thighs.

“Is something wrong?” Ava asks. Her voice is quiet, yet it reverberates against the fresh-fallen snow.

“No, I just—” Beatrice stops. Another wave of panic seizes her chest. She grips the cross over her heart in an attempt to protect herself. That sickness in her chest bleeds out, and fresh tears well in her eyes. The snow comes down faster, rushing to her defense. The snowflakes comfort Beatrice, blanketing her shoulders when she needs it most. She swallows hard, shivering in the cold.

“You’ve become too important to me,” Beatrice chokes out. Her voice is solemn yet trembling. She hates the way it sounds. “I nearly lost you in the alley today. It scared me.”

Ava’s fingers meld with the snowfall. They brush across Beatrice’s hand, almost feather-like. A jittery warmth passes between them. This time, Ava lets Beatrice’s hand rest in the cup of her palm. Ava toys with her fingers quietly, but she won’t take her eyes off the nun.

“I know,” Ava says. “You scared me, too.”

Beatrice straightens her posture, positioning herself to face the Halo Bearer. “What?”

“Yeah. Y’know, when you took the sword and went all badass-Beatrice on us,” Ava admits. A smile tugs on her lips, but it fades quickly. “You didn’t have to do that. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Ava cradles Beatrice’s hand with her own, gently brushing her fingers against her palm. Her touch makes Beatrice shiver, and her mind races with the hurtling snowflakes. The night air tastes crisp, mixed with ice and mint. There’s a clear sheet of snow on the rooftop, settling around their timid forms. But Ava rakes the ever-piling snow off her hand, diligently smoothing out her skin to protect her from the cold. 

Beatrice tries to speak, but only chokes on the oil in her throat. She lets go of her cross to wipe the tears from her eyes. Moisture settles on her eyelashes, solidifying into ice. It makes the world far too heavy to bear.

“Don’t make me say it,” Beatrice speaks in a near-whisper. “I don’t think I know how.”

Ava stops stroking the nun’s palm, but still rests her fingers in Beatrice’s hand. 

“It’s okay,” Ava’s voice is nearly a whisper. “Take your time.”

When Beatrice looks up, she knows that she’s already said too much. There’s a softness in Ava’s eyes that she has only seen in glimpses. That glint in her gaze would awaken just as Beatrice looked away, or in pauses between breaths. Now, Ava’s warmth rises with the snow flurries, held with a solemn smile. Beatrice’s fingers tremble, but the Halo Bearer’s hands stay steady. The most terrifying part of it all, Beatrice realizes, is that Ava will wait on the rooftop with her for as long as it takes. She understands that it takes time for snow to bury oil.

Beatrice sighs. How a rambunctious orphan girl turned into… _this_ , she’ll never know. The clot in her throat subsides after a few deep breaths. Another voice rises, brought in by the snowstorm. It’s been drowned by the dripping dark, but right now, it can just tread water. 

“Ava, nothing makes sense anymore,” Beatrice says. “Not my vows, not my faith, not… anything.” Beatrice swallows hard, letting the pang in her heart pass. Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t dare let it falter. “But I know that you’ve been nothing short of a miracle to me.”

The voice drowns again, but perhaps it spoke enough. In the stillness, Ava holds her breath. There’s hint of surprise in her gaze; she needs a moment to turn over Beatrice’s exact words. Snow dusts the girl’s beanie, and flecks of white highlight her straw-colored hair. She inches forward, propped up on her knees. When Ava leans in, they bump foreheads ever so slightly. There’s a heat on Ava’s breath that tingles the tip of her nose. Snow swirls around them, igniting the tension in the air.

“I… thank you. I think I see what you’re saying,” Ava says. She clears her throat, letting the next words sink in for them both. “I really like you too.” 

Ava leans back, letting the slightest gap grow between them. Beatrice’s world is entrapped in big brown eyes, dazzled by snowfall. It’s as if Ava can see through her throat, watch the oil rise and drown her alive. But she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, Ava lets go of Beatrice’s hand to cup her jaw. She wipes some of the older tears away with her thumb, but that loving smile never fades.

“It’s okay if you can’t say it yet,” Ava says. Snowfall muffles her voice, but it rings loudly in Beatrice’s mind. “Until then, um… mind if I stick around?”

Beatrice nods, grazing her forehead against Ava’s. Tears stream freely down her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. She can’t speak, but all she can do is shake her head _yes, yes, yes_. Beatrice starts to chuckle between her sniffles, then it shifts to tentative laughter. 

“Yeah?” Ava asks. Her eyes start to water, but Beatrice only sees it for a moment. She’s quickly wrapped into a hug, and Beatrice sinks into Ava’s embrace.

“Yes.” Beatrice’s voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper, lost to the wind. The nun wraps her arms around the other girl’s shoulders, and she notices the dull heat of the Halo. It pulsates softly, yet it glows hotter when Beatrice snuggles into the dip of Ava’s neck. Beatrice hugs her tighter, encouraging the Halo to warm them up as the snow buries them both. Hot tears run down her face, but through it all, they’re both giggling like children. The laughter reverberates through each other’s bodies, bouncing between them with ease. Beyond Ava’s form, Beatrice watches the snowflakes fall. Gray clouds blot out most of the stars, but streetlight gives them a yellow hue. Mist blankets over the sleeping city, but with the hum of the lampposts below, that faint light is all that Beatrice needs. She takes a few gulps of air, and she swallows the oil down. The crisp cold takes them, tinged with a holy warmth. 

“Aw, Bea,” Ava whispers. There’s a pause, as if she’s trying to construct the right string of words. Then, a chuckle. “That’s _snow_ embarrassing.”

Those words make Beatrice physically reel back. She breaks away, settling into the snow with a sigh. Apparently, the pun was blasphemous enough to help Beatrice find her voice again. 

“That was horrible,” Beatrice says. A smile tugs at the nun’s lips, but there must be some level of disgust or surprise on her face based on the way Ava looks at her. Ava’s eyes reflect the swirling snow, but there’s the slightest bit of pride in that grin of hers.

“I know,” Ava says, biting her tongue ever so slightly. She leans back, goading Beatrice to follow. The Halo Bearer doesn’t bother to hide the blush on her cheeks. Beatrice leans forward, letting her hands drag through the snow. It piles against her fingertips, almost waiting for what comes next. Then, there’s a spray of white, and Ava gets hit directly in the chest. The mighty Halo Bearer lets out a little shriek, breathing heavily from the sudden flash of cold.

“Hey!” Ava spits out, wiping off the snow plastered on her jacket. She dips down, throwing up a shower of snowflakes. Icy cold stings Beatrice’s face, and she falls back. It turns into a free-for-all rather quickly. Ava and Beatrice light up the city with their laughter, chucking snow over the roof and sending it down into the streets below. For once, Beatrice doesn’t stop to consider the sleeping masses beneath them, or how their voices carry through the storm. She’s lost in mock warfare, watching every twitch and pause in the other girl’s form. Her fighting instincts kick in, and she easily dodges Ava’s next throw. Her lungs belt out for the first time in years, clear and unyielding. 

Ava makes a dive for Beatrice in a flurry of snow. Gentle hands clasp around her wrists, careful not to press into her bruises. Beatrice’s breath catches, but not before Ava’s boot slips against the icy shingles. Ava gasps, flailing wildly for a foothold, then topples onto Beatrice. The nun hits the roof with a heavy grunt, taking the bulk of Ava’s weight. The girl giggles into her chest. When her head pokes up, her rosy cheeks defy the cold. The Halo adds radiance to the smirk on her face. Beatrice’s heart hammers in her chest; she knows Ava can feel it. Beatrice can’t help it, considering the circumstances. An angel has appeared before of her, brought down in a parade of snowfall. She rests her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders, stretching out before her like a prideful lioness.

“Did I win?” Ava asks. There’s a teasing glint in her eye that’s impossible to ignore. Beatrice lets her sit like this for a second longer; she lets herself paint the picture in her mind. The city glow, the billowing white, the Halo’s flare. Then, Beatrice shifts. She only transfers her weight slightly, but it’s enough to make Ava plant her boot into one of the icy shingles. There’s a quiet scrape and a yelp, and Ava crashes down beside her. A flurry of snow puffs out upon impact. 

“Good try,” Beatrice says. She lets go of the stars to look down at Ava. The Halo Bearer pouts at her, but her lips tremble to suppress a smile. Snow shimmers down on her face and peppers her hair, adding a touch of light to her skin. 

There’s a hint of frankincense in the air, but Beatrice can’t explain where it comes from. The scent may be stuck to their clothes, or forever stamped into their skin from their time at the Cat’s Cradle. It’s mixed with burnt candle wax, flaring with the Halo’s light. It’s a creature comfort that makes Beatrice sigh with the falling snow. She lets the white glow bury her under Ava’s arms, lets the taste of hot incense on her breath soothe her. It’s only then that the steady black drip in her chest subsides. It sits in the pit of her stomach; its waters are muddled and murky, but its once-torrential waves stand still, if only for a moment. But that’s all she needs.

Beatrice cups Ava’s face, wiping away stray snow with her thumb. The Halo blinds her for a moment, then dims. It hums in the night, soft yet consistent in its tone. It does not falter when Beatrice presses a kiss on Ava’s forehead, nor does it falter when Beatrice lingers there, consumed by all sense of touch. There’s a familiar pang in her chest, but it isn’t followed by a sudden cold space or a painful ringing in her ears. Instead, Ava’s cheeks burn against her fingertips. The Halo Bearer gives her a shy smile, then snuggles under the nun’s jaw. They both watch the sky, and their steady breaths pace with the retreating storm clouds. The snowflakes grow smaller and smaller, until only a few flecks grace Beatrice’s cheeks. 

There’s a small tear in the mass of gray clouds. In this new stretch of night, Beatrice sees her first star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a whirlwind. Didn't expect it to go the way that it did, but here we are. Hope you guys enjoyed the journey as much as I did!


End file.
